


Our roles reversed

by bramblesforbreakfast



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Pining, Sexual Content, Swearing, discouraged!Enjolras, reversed roles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-18
Updated: 2015-02-15
Packaged: 2018-03-08 03:15:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 74,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3193190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bramblesforbreakfast/pseuds/bramblesforbreakfast
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What happens if you fight but don't succeed? You loose your drive...</p>
<p>Enjolras has lost his drive over the years. But when old images of him at rallies and old pamphlets he wrote surface in a protest wave against a new act about to be put to vote, Enjolras starts to rethink his position in life and his chosen path to change the country.</p>
<p>The reappearance of his teenage-sweetheart, a man he had thought he had forgotten and who seems to be unattainable all of a sudden, might also have something to do with that change of mind...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I really like the idea of a very flawed Enjolras who still strives to be good. So here, a very flawed Enjolras who tries to save himself from becoming a person he never wanted to be... and tries to regain some happiness in his life involving a certain, well-known artist.
> 
> This is also a little experiment with backflashes and back-referencing within a story which I've never done before. Let me know if it is confusing ;)
> 
> Oh, and forgive me if I get something wrong about the French school system or political system, I'm not French myself and only try to read things up on the internet. Constructive critique is always welcome!

“Monsieur Enjolras?!”

Enjolras looked up from his work and found Javert leaning against the door frame to the office he shared with Courfeyrac, arms crossed, brows narrowed, eyes glinting fierce.

“Yes, Monsieur?”

“Weren't you meant to bring me something an hour ago?”, asked Javert a little impatient.

His heartbeat quickened and his pulse rushed in his ears while he tried to remember what he had been told to do. A quick glance to Courfeyrac did not help him in the slightest for his friend and colleague hid behind his laptop and worked frantically at the case he was assigned to.

“Ehm...”, made Enjolras and felt his ears going completely hot – and most likely glowing red.

“The report about the bribery hearing, Monsieur Enjolras. You said it would be ready by five. It's six o'clock now...”, said Javert a little pressed and scowled at the young blond lawyer.

“Oh yes, a moment, please!”, gasped Enjolras and dived head-first into the pile of files at the left of his desk, drawing out the bright red folder. He hurried around the two desks and gave the folder to Javert. “That's the complete report including a transcription of the shorthand.”

“You already got the shorthand?”, asked Javert surprised.

“And I already transcribed it.”, assured Enjolras and kept a level gaze at Javert.

Javert was a heavyweight in the world of public prosecution. He was a man as hard as granite and the most skilled prosecutor in the whole of France. Only the most important cases were given to him, only the most important clients came to him for help and Javert never lost. His compass for right and justice was immaculate, although some people whispered about him obeying the law without questioning its appropriateness in certain circumstances.

And his law firm was the first address for anyone wanting to make a name for themselves in the field of prosecution. And that was what had brought Enjolras and Courfeyrac here.

“Well...”, said Javert who was not easily impressed, “Well done, Monsieur Enjolras. And I already thought I was trying you too hard...”

“Never, Monsieur.”, said Enjolras with an eager undertone and returned Javert's meagre nod before his boss left.

“You're such a crawler, it's embarrassing.”, commented Courfeyrac with a smile and surfaced from behind his laptop. He leaned back and yawned while rubbing his face, hair already ruffled and messy.

“I'm no crawler, I'm ambitious.”, retorted Enjolras dryly and got back to the file he was working at.

“Tell me we can go now.”, begged Courfeyrac and dipped his desk chair over a little, propping his feet onto his desk while yawning again.

“I still need to finish the summation for Monsieur Champmathieu for tomorrow.”, grumbled Enjolras and tried to pick the train of thoughts he had been dragged out of by Javert back up again.

“I don't get why you agreed to take this case in the first place.”, huffed Courfeyrac and opened a can of coke after dragging his tie from his neck to stuff it into his bag, “Firstly, you are not going to physically _be_ in court that day because it's Champmathieu's case and secondly that case is against _everything_ you believe in!”

“I know.”, groaned Enjolras and flexed his fingers over the keyboard of his laptop, “But maybe Champmathieu will win the case and will see that I _actually_ work well and maybe he will take me to court the next time with him. And didn't you tell me to grin and bear it for our cause?!”

“I did...”, sighed Courfeyrac and shook his head, “But that was before you worked nearly fourteen hours a day _and_ wrote summations to actually defend the corruptness of a bank that wants to unload all their mistakes on one single clerk who didn't even work for the bank at the time.”

“I can't back out now.”, groaned Enjolras who once again felt a pang of guilt in his guts about what he was actually writing down at the moment and buried his face in his hands, “I've gotten too far with this. Champmathieu will not forgive me if I let him down. And you know that he will run to Javert and tell him and then I'm screwed.”

“You just handed him an eight-pages transcription of a shorthand you received three hours ago. I think there will be needed a lot more before anybody screws you in the face of Javert.”, grinned Courfeyrac and winked.

Once again Enjolras felt that there was something more to Courfeyrac's words, like so often, but he didn't really pick up what his friend meant and sighed instead, his face still in his hands.

“Come on.”, sighed Courfeyrac after a moment and Enjolras heard him getting up from his chair, “We should really get going, Combeferre should be home in an hour and I think we should be there when he does.”

Enjolras looked up and found a worried frown on Courfeyrac's features. Something so very out of the normal for him that it alarmed Enjolras.

“Did you hear something from Ferre after the surgery?”, he asked and let himself be convinced by Courfeyrac to call it a day and leave the office.

“No.”, sighed Courfeyrac and put his laptop into its bag, “I'm afraid it didn't go too well after he didn't call me or texted or _anything_. He was so nervous this morning, I wouldn't be surprised if something has happened.”

“It was his first solo-surgery, though. Everyone would be nervous when he had to rummage in the brain of some bloke he has never met before.”, acknowledged Enjolras and shut down his laptop as well.

“Would you rather rummage in the brain of a friend?”, asked Courfeyrac and lifted an eyebrow at Enjolras, “Besides, it was a minimally invasive endonasal endoscopic surgery. He assisted in those so often that I can _actually_ remember what they are called. He should trust more in his abilities.”

“Tell that to Ferre himself, not to me.”, huffed Enjolras and drew his black jacket over while Courfeyrac slipped into his sports jacket as well.

“If he would listen to me, I'd actually consider that...”, huffed Courfeyrac while Enjolras closed the door to their office and followed him to the elevator.

The office was empty besides them and Javert, who was buried nose-deep in the file Enjolras had given him a few minutes ago. He did not even bother looking up as Courfeyrac called a goodbye to him.

“Arse...”, grumbled Courfeyrac while the doors of the elevator slid closed behind them.

“ _Brilliant_ arse.”, corrected Enjolras and checked his mobile. He narrowed his eyes when he found a cryptic and confusing text from Feuilly.

_Feuilly (5:36) I told you you would make it ONTO congress!_

“Courfeyrac, care to help me with that?”, he asked and passed the mobile to his friend while they left the building, hurrying to the next metro station a little further down the street.

“No idea. Call him and ask.”, retorted Courfeyrac while they hobbled down the stairs and crossed through the gates to catch the next metro home. Enjolras checked his watch.

“No, he's already working.”, he huffed and rubbed his eyes while a few girls pushed past them, turning around and giggling while they looked intently at Courfeyrac who just winked.

“You know them?”, asked Enjolras while they departed and Courfeyrac just groaned.

“ _Flirting_ , Enj, it's called flirting!”, sighed Courfeyrac and took a hold of his hand, dragging him along to a little less crowded spot on the platform.

It was normal for him to do that, physical contact was normal for Courfeyrac and so Enjolras didn't flinch. Besides, it would have been ridiculous to flinch from holding hands after how deep their friendship had grown over the last years.

“Oh...”, made Enjolras a little awkward and let go off Courfeyrac's hand when the metro rushed in, “But it is not fair towards Combeferre that you are flir...”

“I am _not_ having that discussion with you again, Enjolras.”, groaned Courfeyrac and gave him a clap on the back, “Combeferre knows and loves me and he knows that this is harmless and that I would be _never_ unfaithful. Full stop.”

Enjolras just rolled his eyes and shook his head. He did not understand – or didn't want to understand – the concept in which Combeferre and Courfeyrac dealt with flirting. In his opinion, they were either in a relationship and that meant truthfully, or they were not. But it was not his right to correct their wrongs... they had told him.

Within the next half an hour they reached their shared flat in the eleventh arrondissement near the metro station Rue Saint-Maur, directly off République Avenue, a thing Courfeyrac had thought hilarious considering Enjolras' dedication for his country.

The flat was small but luxurious considering the Parisian standards. Each of them had their own room – although Courfeyrac and Combeferre shared Combeferre's bedroom most of the time so that Courfeyrac's bedroom had been more or less turned into a study for the three of them including a small bed crammed into a corner – Feuilly used to refer to it as “his bed”. Their kitchen was tiny but they had a vast living room. Their bathroom was nearly as tiny as the kitchen but functional, so only Courfeyrac would complain about the lack of space to store his conditioner and all the other stuff he needed to feel like a proper human being.

The lights were all off when Enjolras stepped inside. He never the less called for Combeferre without receiving an answer.

The only thing that would answer were fast pads along the floor and a little shaggy shape darting towards them. Courfeyrac closed the door in a hurry while their dog flung herself against Enjolras' legs.

“Yes, hello, girl!”, he greeted and bent down to pat the hackling dog whose tail seemed to have its own life. She pushed on to Courfeyrac a moment after and licked his hands, overflowing with happiness that her humans were back again.

“Hello Lamarque, did you have a good day? Of course you did, didn't you? Yes, good girl.”, cooed Courfeyrac over their little stray and patted her down, afterwards they both toed off their shoes.

Courfeyrac pushed past him and the struggle for the right to use the shower first began. And as always, Enjolras failed when the much smaller – but much stronger – Courfeyrac pinned him against the wall by his shoulders, stole a quick peck from him and slunk into the bathroom.

“Bastard.”, grumbled Enjolras and went to the kitchen, flinging his tie onto the sofa while passing it. Lamarque already sat in her bed in the kitchen and watched him with wide eyes while he refilled her water and looked around the cupboard for a treat for her.

“There you go.”, he smiled while he poured some food into her bowl, “Bon appétit, madame!”

Lamarque dived into her bowl and was occupied for the next few moments so that Enjolras could care for their dinner. He had made them take vows not to spoil the little shaggy stray when they had taken her in two years ago but by now he was probably the one spoiling her just as much as Courfeyrac, if that was possible. But neither of them did mind as long as their girl was happy.

He busied himself with the kettle and set a pot of water onto the stove to boil some spaghetti afterwards. Courfeyrac would make some sauce when Enjolras took his shower, knowing that Enjolras' skills in the kitchen were limited to boiling water and making tea.

He rifled through the letters Combeferre had set aside for his flatmates before he had left for his late shift and saw satisfied that there were once in his life no bills to pay and no unnerving advertisements to curse. Laramque finished her dinner and slumped to the ground next to him, using his feet as a pillow, sighing content.

So Enjolras was overall peaceful of mind – his tea in hands and leaning against the counter to watch the water, Lamarque his trusted warm water bottle – when the bathroom door opened and Courfeyrac rose from the mist and marched pointedly past the kitchen door – stark naked.

“Ferre is not yet in.”, called Enjolras over to him while he skimmed the paper from the morning which he had not finished in time he had had to leave for work.

“A shame...”, sighed Courfeyrac and closed the door to their combined bedroom. Enjolras rolled his eyes with a smile. As if after stalking past him stark naked something like privacy was still required.

A moment later, Enjolras heard the next key in the lock turn and put the paper down. He skittered out of the kitchen – closely followed by Lamarque – and stood in the hall in time for Combeferre to step in. He wore his jeans jacket over his pale green hospital shirt and had only bothered to change his pale green trousers into the usual comfortable after-work sweatpants.

Lamarque hurled herself at him as well and nearly knocked him off his feet so that Enjolras grabbed her collar and carefully drew her back. Combeferre closed the door and fell to a knee afterwards, allowing Lamarque to welcome him properly.

“Hey, are you all right?”, asked Enjolras and leaned against the wall while Combeferre pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and actually smiled at him, his hands still in the dog's fur.

“Never been better, why?”, he asked, something in his smile that made Enjolras raise an eyebrow. Something was off, but he did not yet know what.

“You didn't call. How was your first solo?”, he asked instead, watching Combeferre toe off his trainers and dropping his bag in the hall.

“Oh, that. Great, actually. I had a wonderful assistant, doctor Jo-something. New kid, very nice but a little shy. We had no complications and the patient will recover fairly quickly, I hope.”, he explained and pressed one of the yellow press evening papers against Enjolras chest while he craned his neck.

“Is Courf still in the shower?”, asked Combeferre while Enjolras followed him still confused.

“No, bedroom.”, he gave back.

“Even better...”, grinned Combeferre and rushed to his bedroom. And not even Enjolras was dull enough to not understand _that_ undertone.

He sighed and returned to the kitchen were the water was boiling. He put in the spaghetti and gathered his tea before sitting down at their small table and taking up reading his paper, Lamarque feeling sorely neglected by Courfeyrac and Combeferre and seeking comfort by resting her head on Enjolras' knee.

A few moments later, Courfeyrac and Combeferre joined him, smug grins on their features and a happy glow on their faces. Enjolras did not bother to look up while Courfeyrac got busy preparing some sauce and Combeferre joined him at the table, while he was still scratching Lamarque behind the ears.

“You should really read the other paper, you know!?”, suggested Combeferre and pushed the yellow-press towards him once more.

Enjolras looked up from an article about cuts in the educational budget and raised an eyebrow at his friend who grinned a little mischievously at him.

“You know I never read those.”, he said and wanted to take up his reading, but Combeferre yanked the paper from his fingers and ordered: “Page twelve...”

“God, what's wrong with people today?”, asked Enjolras unnerved and thought once again about Feuilly's cryptic text from earlier and Combeferre's peculiar insistence about reading that trash paper. He flipped through the pages and finally opened up the yellow press at page twelve. And froze...

“Woah, what's wrong?”, asked Courfeyrac and stepped to him to look at the page while Enjolras couldn't do anything else but gape, Combeferre grinning smugly at him.

“Blimey, Enj, is that you?!”, laughed Courfeyrac and leaned down closer to eye the picture dominating the page.

It was a photograph of the building of the National Assembly. It was not even a very good picture, but it showed enough of the building to make Enjolras' mind go blank. On the left one of the wings of the building, right next to the vast pillars, was a humongous graffiti in glowing red, showing the outlines of a young man, shouting in fury, raising his fist into the air. He knew that picture, it had been in the students paper after that student protest back in lycée. It was him, Courfeyrac was right.

Below the picture, a few words were smeared onto the building as well: _equality and freedom to the people_.

“It's him. In his wild years back in lycée. He was the star of the paper back then with his revolutionary air.”, told Combeferre Courfeyrac and smiled challenging at Enjolras who slowly found his ability to speak again.

“Wow, Enj, you should have told me before you launch such a big project. I could have helped.”, told him Courfeyrac and skimmed the article under the photograph.

“I didn't start anything! I... I don't even know... I mean... Ferre, who did this?!”, he snapped, yanking the paper away from Courfeyrac and glaring daggers at Combeferre.

“How would I know?”, asked Combeferre and shrugged his shoulders, “I was equally gobsmacked when I saw it this evening. I really thought it was some kind of plan of yours!”

“No, it wasn't. I don't even _own_ that picture!”, insisted Enjolras and skimmed the article as well. There was nothing included about who had put up this graffiti, only that the police was looking for the violators of public property.

“I guess Feuilly's text makes sense now, doesn't it?”, asked Courfeyrac and returned to his cooking.

“It does...”, breathed Enjolras and dropped the paper, furious now, “But what the bloody hell is going on?! That's my face on the National Assembly and I don't even know why! God, if Javert recognizes me, my time's up!”

“Oh come on, I barely recognized you and I live with you.”, groaned Courfeyrac and fed Lamarque a leftover piece of raw mince meat. Enjolras scowled.

“You shouldn't be concerned about loosing your job.”, corrected Combeferre, “At least now someone is doing something. Protest, showing the people that there are mishaps. Isn't that what you always wanted?”

“It is, but I wasn't planning on putting my face on the National Assembly for it. I was going to work hard, open my own law firm and try to evoke change from within.”, he snapped, crumpling up the paper and tossing it into the bin in the corner, Lamarque darting after it to play catch the ball. He ignored her.

“But it's a nice face, it will definitely win more people for the cause than you and your law firm.”, acknowledged Courfeyrac while he let Combeferre taste the sauce for him, holding a hand under Combeferre's chin and spoon-feeding him.

“You mean _our_ law firm...”, grumbled Enjolras and leaned back, crossing his arms.

“Always talking back...”, sighed Courfeyrac dramatically but decided to drop the topic, “Do me a favour, stop racking your brains over this and set the table, will you?”

“Would _you_ stop racking your brains if it was your face on there?”, snapped Enjolras but got up to set the table, Lamarque sticking to his heels while he walked around the kitchen.

“Probably not.”, sighed Courfeyrac and stirred the sauce, “But as we can not figure out who or what group used that picture, we might as well leave it be and see what will come from it, shall we?”

“You're unbearable...”, groaned Enjolras but nudged him carefully out of the way to get some plates.

 

*

 

“Oh Lamarque, for god's sake, we've been out already, lie down.”, snorted Enjolras when Lamarque licked his hand dangling off the sofa once again.

“Lamarque, equality.”, hummed Combeferre's steady voice and the dog strolled over to her blanket and sat down.

Enjolras frowned up at Combeferre and shook his head while his friend was still scratching his scalp.

“I still think it was the _worst_ idea to train her with those words.”, he criticized but lifted his paper again while Combeferre chuckled without taking his eyes off the book.

“Lamarque, liberty.”, he said and the dog lay down immediately, “But it works surprisingly good, don't you think?”

“What happened to good old sit – down – no?”, asked Enjolras and sighed while he closed his eyes, relishing in the feeling of Combeferre's slender fingers in his hair.

“You were always for change, so we changed the system.”, smiled Combeferre who finally closed the book he was reading and put it on the side table.

“There was nothing wrong with the _dog-training-system_. Change the political system, not the dog-training.”, sighed Enjolras but didn't open his eyes to see Combeferre – probably – smiling wide down at him.

They sat – or lay, in Enjolras' case – in complete silence. Combeferre had slouched into one end of the sofa and Enjolras had flopped onto the sofa next to him, sprawled out and his head on a pillow in Combeferre's lap.

They seldom had time together since Courfeyrac and Combeferre had become a couple almost two years ago and Enjolras missed Combeferre dearly, but would never say a word about it. They had always been so close with each other, ever since they had met in primary school. Going to the same university in Paris had seemed like the only reasonable conclusion and with their money concentrated on one flat, they had had a great student life.

And then they had met Courfeyrac. Or – to be more specific – Courfeyrac had made it his very own mission to cheer up the grumpy blond first semester next to him in the economic law seminar. He had stuck to Enjolras like glue and as soon as he had met Combeferre, Courfeyrac had become a steady part of their lives.

And now they were all around the age of twenty-six and lived and worked together. Enjolras wouldn't trade anything else for this.

“When's Courf coming home?”, he mumbled before he could fall asleep. Combeferre still massaged his skull.

“Don't know. He's meeting with Marius for dinner and afterwards they will be meeting Marius' new girlfriend for drinks. And you know how long that can take...”

“Oh yes.”, groaned Enjolras, “So this means Chinese food and films?”

“Jup...”

“Great, I'll get the menus.”, sighed Enjolras and struggled up, strolling into the kitchen to get their orders going.

Roughly an hour later, they sat on the sofa, cartons of Chinese food in their laps, a beer next to Combeferre and some water for Enjolras, a film on telly and Lamarque rolled up on the sofa between them.

“Have you met her?”, asked Enjolras while a girl disembowelled a deer in deep snow on telly.

“Hm?”

“Marius' girlfriend....”

“Oh... no, I haven't. Courfeyrac is checking if she's the right person for Marius... you know he cares still an awful lot for him... and then he'll see if she can stand him to be able to bear us all.”

“Why would he do that?”, asked Enjolras confused and patted Lamarque who put her head into his lap.

Combeferre looked over the rim of his glasses at him and smirked.

“Because someone has to see if she can stand Courfeyrac's hyperactivity, Feuilly's eagerness, your harshness and my nerdiness combined.”

Enjolras huffed and took a sip of water.

“If she can stand Marius' sappiness she can stand us too.”, he gave back.

“Oh, Enjolras.”, laughed Combeferre and flicked him against the shoulder, “Are we trying ourself at sarcasm again?!”

“Shut up.”, smiled Enjolras and took a sip of water again while they turned their attention back to the telly.

They were about an hour into the film when Lamarque raised her head, pricked her ears and rushed off the sofa a moment later.

“Lamarque!”, called Combeferre soothing because he thought she had heard someone in the hall again, but as they heard the key in the lock, both of them turned around surprised and watched Courfeyrac enter the apartment and greet Lamarque fondly.

“Back so early?”, asked Combeferre while Courfeyrac came around the sofa a moment later, slumping into the space between them, his upper body in Combeferre's lap and his feet on Enjolras'.

“Jup. Turned out Cosette thought it was ridiculous for us having dinner separately and so she joined us. And afterwards... well, _I_ see when someone's horny, so I left them to it.”, smiled Courfeyrac.

“Are you all right?”, asked Enjolras and narrowed his eyebrows in concern.

Courfeyrac sighed and shrugged his shoulders: “It's still difficult to see him with someone else but... It means a lot to me that he wants to have my opinion about a hypothetical next relationship.”

“He shouldn't have dumped you in the first place.”, grumbled Combeferre and caressed Courfeyrac's chest through the polo shirt.

“But then _you_ wouldn't have me now.”, grinned Courfeyrac.

“True...”, smiled Combeferre fondly and Courfeyrac reached up, wrapping a hand around Combeferre's neck to draw him down and to kiss him eagerly.

“Guys...”, sighed Enjolras after a moment and pushed Courfeyrac's feet carefully.

“Jealous?”, asked Courfeyrac while he let go off Combeferre.

“If I wanted that, I'd let Lamarque lap my face.”, stated Enjolras and Courfeyrac laughed.

“Riding the sarcasm train again, are we?”

“What is it with you two and my sarcasm?”, asked Enjolras but smiled while they untangled – for his sake.

“It was practically non-existent when I met you and now it's threatening to take over Enjolrasia.”, winked Courfeyrac.

“So what's his girlfriend like?”, asked Combeferre to get Courfeyrac's attention again.

“Nice girl. Seems a little naïve and innocent when you see her, but let me tell you, she managed to make me speechless... twice.”, explained Courfeyrac.

“Wow.”, made Combeferre while he wrapped an arm around his boyfriend's shoulders and nuzzled Courfeyrac's temple with his lips.

“Ah, shit.”, sighed Courfeyrac and got up, earning a disappointed glance from Combeferre that vanished as fast as he saw that Courfeyrac just drew a small stack of letters from his back pocket, “I brought the post up.”

He sorted through it, gave two envelopes to Combeferre and looked at a pale green one for a while, whistling through his teeth.

“Shit, Enj, you've got wealthy pen-pals.”, he said and flicked the letter at him, “That envelope is worth more than our entire flat."

“Don't be ridiculous.”, reprimanded Enjolras fondly but turned the pale green letter in his hands to find a sender. But beside his name and his address the letter showed no traces of where it had came from.

“Open it, come on!”, demanded Courfeyrac who had settled against Combeferre, watching Enjolras eagerly.

“Don't rush me...”, he retorted quietly but finally opened the letter. It contained a very formal looking invitation, all black except the emerald word _Invitation_ on the front. It was printed but looked like a very edgy and determined handwriting, the dots on the i-s and the strokes through the t-s running slightly upwards.

“What is it?”, asked Courfeyrac and leaned forward, only restricted by Combeferre's arm around his body to hold him back.

“God, you are such a nag.”, groaned Enjolras fondly while he opened up the invitation finally.

His eyes went over the text twice and then he looked at the signature – and dropped the invitation as if it had scorched his fingers. His heart beat frantic in his chest and he felt his face and ears going impossibly hot. His fingers shook and he couldn't do anything else than stare at the invitation that now lay on the floor, Lamarque sniffling noisily at the paper.

“Enjolras, what's wrong?”, asked Combeferre alarmed and let go off Courfeyrac who seemed to have forgotten the invitation as well and leaned forward to grab Enjolras' shoulder.

Enjolras jerked up and pushed off Courfeyrac's fingers, stalking with stiff knees into the kitchen, his face as red as a traffic light.

Courfeyrac turned to Combeferre in his back and saw his boyfriend just shrugging his shoulders. Carefully Courfeyrac leaned down and picked up the invitation while Lamarque patted into the kitchen to check on Enjolras.

It was a very formal looking but unofficially formulated invitation to a vernissage in a gallery in the 3rd arrondissement in rue the Turenne. It would take place on Friday evening in a week and would feature the very first of a series of exhibitions all over France. Courfeyrac did not know the artist: Henri Grantaire who worked under the pseudonym of R.

He handed the invitation to Combeferre and asked in a low voice: “I didn't know Enjolras was into art. Do you know this guy?”

“Holy...”, cursed Combeferre and closed the card fast, staring wide eyed at it afterwards.

“I guess you do...”

“Yes... yes I do.”, stuttered Combeferre, looking very distressed all of a sudden. Courfeyrac worried.

“Is this some kind of state secret or something because I would be really happy to know what the heck is going on...”, he murmured and leaned into Combeferre, turning his face carefully towards himself while cupping his jaw.

Combeferre sighed, blinked a few times and grabbed Courfeyrac's wrist carefully, pressing a kiss to his palm before he drew the hand away.

“Grantaire... R... he's Enjolras ex-boyfriend.”, he declared calmly.

“Boyfriend?”, shrieked Courfeyrac a little too loud and his exclamation was echoed by a few dishes rattling in the kitchen. Combeferre nodded solemnly and sighed.

“You never told me he had had a boyfriend. I always thought Enjolras was oblivious to... _everyone_!”, whispered Courfeyrac frantic and threw quick glances over his shoulder to the kitchen where their friend still hid.

“Sorry, but it wasn't my story to tell. It... it didn't end well and... and I really think Enjolras is the person you should ask about this.”, said Combeferre quietly and put the invitation back on the table.

“If it has slipped your brilliant mind”, muttered Courfeyrac and picked the invitation up again, “he is currently hiding in the kitchen doing god knows what just to avoid being in the same room as this invitation. I hardly think he will talk to me about it...”

“I think you'll find a way to get to him.”, chuckled Combeferre and kissed Courfeyrac's cheek, “As far as I know you, you always find a way.”

“Damn right I will.”, said Courfeyrac, trapped Combeferre's lower lip between his teeth for a short moment, then he got up and strolled as casually as possible into the kitchen. Enjorlas was frantically preparing tea there, three large mugs steaming on the counter while he – for whatever reason – sliced some pears with edgy movements into ridiculously tiny pieces.

“So how's our kitchen as a hideout working out for you?”, asked Courfeyrac carefree and leaned against the counter top next to where Enjolras worked, his arms folded, the invitation poking out from under his left arm.

Enjolras glared at him for a second, eyes a turmoil of feelings that made Courfeyrac shiver before he got back to slicing the pears. Courfeyrac sighed and winked at Lamarque who sat behind Enjolras, her eyes wide and her ears hanging.

“You're upsetting Lamarque, you know.”, stated Courfeyrac solemnly and watched the dog reacting to her name.

“Stop it, Courf, it's non of your business.”, snapped Enjolras and thumped the knife onto the counter, storming out of the kitchen and into his room, banging the door.

Courfeyrac sighed and went back into the living room where Combeferre knelt on the sofa, looking over the backrest to where Enjolras had disappeared. Lamarque followed Courfeyrac on the heel.

“Not successful?”, asked Combeferre surprised and raised an eyebrow.

“Does it look like I'm currently talking to him?”, asked Courfeyrac a little bothered but slumped down on the sofa next to him.

“You get a golden star for the effort.”, smirked Combeferre and got up instead, a worried frown never leaving his face.

“And what do I get for that star?”, asked Courfeyrac coquette.

“Ask me again when we go to bed...”, smiled Combeferre before he disappeared into the corridor.

He didn't bother knocking because he knew Enjolras would have refused to ask him in. Combeferre just opened the door and stepped inside, closing it behind him.

Enjolras room was neat, as always. Ceiling-high book cases were filled with books, mostly works of law, philosophy or management and leadership. Strewn between them were the few works of contemporary fiction that Courfeyrac or Feuilly had forced upon Enjolras.

Enjolras sat cross legged on his bed, a pillow in his lap and some book splayed over it. The lights on his tidy desk were out, the only light source being his dim bedside table light. He was not reading, not really, but he played onto Combeferre's habit of leaving him alone when he had a book open.

Not so today. He slumped onto the bed as well, crouching on the foot of the bed, looking intently at his friend whose face was still glowing red, his golden hair a mess around his fine toned features. He remained silent and crossed his arms, cocking his head just a little. Enjolras groaned after a moment and threw his book onto the mattress next to him, glaring daggers at Combeferre.

“Go on, say it. Say you are being childish. Say you have been very rude to Courf. Say it is better to talk about your problems than eat them up. Say it!”, ranted Enjolras and stared furious at Combeferre.

“I came to ask how you are doing?”, offered Combeferre quietly and moved a little closer to Enjolras.

He had taken the wind out of his sails and watched now as he forced himself to relax. He closed his brilliant blue eyes and huffed a little, then he shook his head and said: “It's been eight years since I've last seen him and... why the bloody hell would he send _me_ an invitation to his vernissage?! Me, of all people!!!”

Combeferre heard how tormented Enjolras sounded and leaned forward, placing a consoling hand on his friend's knee. He licked his lips and asked: “Why shouldn't he? Like you said, it's been eight years, maybe he... just wants to see you again. Show off, maybe?”

“Oh please.”, groaned Enjolras and covered his face with his hands, his voice dull when he went on, “Like you would want to see someone again after calling it off via letter. And you know he's too self-concious to show off...”

“Whatever reason Grantaire has, let's just embrace the fact that he wants to meet.”, suggested Combeferre, “But if you don't want to see him again, I'll support that. You know I stand by you, always. But consider that Courfeyrac will be deprived of the chance to wear his suit and make us dress fancy and you might not want to experience the terrible wrath of a Courfeyrac scorned...”

Enjolras shot him a sour glance and shook his head a little.

“Talk to me.”, said Combeferre quietly because he saw that Enjolras was still not consoled.

“I...”, started Enjolras and shook his head again, “I don't know, Ferre. I don't know. I haven't thought about him in... hell, in years. And now he sends this invitation... without a warning. I just don't understand...”

Combeferre sighed. He knew that those last four words meant something entirely different than he had said, they meant: _I am just afraid_. Because Enjolras was. There had been a reason why he had called things off with Grantaire when they had been so young using a letter. He was always afraid of hurting people, although his rash temper and his harsh words did that more often than not.

“I know...”, sighed Combeferre, “I don't understand it either. But Enjolras, we are adults now, we all are. We shouldn't dwell on the past. Grantaire has moved on, maybe that's why he invited you, to show you that he moved on. Maybe you should too...”

Enjolras took his hands away and stared at Combeferre's hand on his knee. Maybe Combeferre was right, maybe Grantaire had moved on. But he didn't want Grantaire to move on, Enjolras acknowledged a little shocked. It was selfish, yes, it was cruel, that too, but Enjolras wouldn't want Grantaire to forget him, to forget what they had had, to forget that he had been Enjolras' first kiss.

“Maybe I should...”, he murmured quietly and looked up at Combeferre, searching for consolation in Combeferre's dark eyes. His friend sighed and reached up, brushing a strand of Enjolras' curls behind his ear.

“He will definitely love that you grew your hair out like he always suggested...”, tried Combeferre to lighten the mood. Enjolras snorted but before he could say anything, a shriek from the living room made them startle up. They hurried out of Enjolras' room to find Courfeyrac perched on the armchair they owned, his hands clutching four tickets to his chest.

“Did you see it were four tickets?”, he shrieked again while Combeferre and Enjolras arrived, “Not just two, but four! I already feared I might have to have a fight to death with Ferre or Feuilly but there are four tickets! Means we can all go together!”

Judging from their surprised and reluctant faces, Courfeyrac swallowed once and stuttered: “Which means... ehm... only in case we're... we're going, then we're all going. If we're not going, we're not going, non of us. I mean...”

“It's fine, Courf”, sighed Enjolras and sat down, grabbing one of the cups of tea that Courfeyrac had gotten from the kitchen, “We're going. You might as well phone Feuilly and ask him to join us.”

“Are you sure?”, asked Courfeyrac a little sceptic and cocked his head.

“Not entirely, but... well, I guess if we've been invited, why not have a look at it?!”

 

*

 

The following week was living hell for Enjolras. He could not concentrate on his work and got a few reprimands from diverse lawyers he had been working with on different cases. Courfeyrac frowned worried at him more often than not and Enjolras had to take his fingers off the keyboard to calm down more often than he wanted to admit.

Feuilly took them to a tailor on Wednesday, getting their suits touched up in Enjolras' case and buying a completely new in Combeferre's case. Courfeyrac was a bundle of nervous energy, darting through the room, pointing out patterns and colours and models while the tailor patiently measured Combeferre.

“Are you all right?”, asked Feuilly quietly while he sat next to Enjolras on the small sofa in the corner of the shop, a frown on his freckled features.

Enjolras sighed deeply and shrugged his shoulders: “I shouldn't be so nervous about this thing. He was barely more than a teenage-sweetheart, nothing more.”

“I heard different things...”, acknowledged Feuilly and raised his eyebrows. His grey eyes seemed concerned and the steep wrinkle between his eyebrows intensified this impression.

“Combeferre exaggerates.”, stated Enjolras calmly but felt a knot in his stomach.

“Enjolras...”, started Feuilly and averted his eyes before he continued quietly, “If you need something...”

“Thank you, Feuilly, that is very kind.”, interrupted Enjolras, “But this is really no big deal. I simply overreacted when I saw the invitation. Is all, don't worry. And tell Combeferre to stop worry too, he won't listen to me.”

“Courf worries more.”, stated Feuilly and watched their friend try to convince Combeferre to buy a white suit jacket because it matched his caramel-coloured skin better – according to Courfeyrac.

“No one should worry, seriously, this is no big deal.”, tried Enjolras to reinforce his past statements but he saw in Feuilly's eyes that he wasn't entirely believing him. And that was no wonder, because Enjolras himself didn't believe it.

It was a big deal, it really was. It was his past catching up with him. It was one of his biggest mistakes catching up on him.

The more the week proceeded and the more energetic and excited Courfeyrac grew, the more anxious grew Enjolras. He tried to hide it – of course – because he didn't want to bother Combeferre or Courfeyrac, but his uneasiness was adamant.

He couldn't find any sleep on Thursday evening and kept tossing in his bed. It was still a riddle to him why Grantaire had decided to invite him to his vernissage. He could not possibly want him there after everything Enjolras had done to him. He could not have just forgotten what had happened all those years ago. Because Enjolras had not forgotten one single nuance of their time together, although he had buried them in the back of his mind. When he closed his eyes hard enough and strained his ears a little, he thought he could still hear his chocked off laughter when they had been secretly kissing in the boy's locker room.

 

_His laughter bothered Enjolras. It always did and that might be the case because it always proceeded the ripping apart of his own arguments. Enjolras clenched his fists and tried to take calming breaths._

“ _What you suggest is a mere drop in the ocean, nothing else.”, sighed Grantaire and smirked, “It won't change anything.”_

“ _And why wouldn't new wells help the poor rural population of Africa?”, clipped Enjolras and tried not to jump at the boy's throat. He hated the grin on Grantaire's face whenever they got paired up in debate club. It clearly stated that Grantaire was looking forward to provoking Enjolras until he was sent out of the class room for shouting again. And that happened more often than not_

_Of course, Grantaire was intelligent and fairly capable of a rhetorical correct discussion, but he seemed to indulge far more in infuriating Enjolras than in getting better grades than other students. Now he leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms, cocking his head so that his lush black curls – much too long for Enjolras' taste, he looked like a god-damn hippy this way and the curls bouncing around his face were much too distracting for Enjolras' liking – fell into his eyes. He blew away one strand with a small huff and then winked._

“ _It's just pointless, is all I'm saying. They won't have much use for these wells once the VSO workers have left the country.”, answered Grantaire and watched Enjolras carefully, his green eyes sparkling daring._

“ _Are you saying they are too dumb to use them on their own account?”, asked Enjolras, shocked that someone would think such a thing._

“ _Of course not, I'm no racist.”, hurried Grantaire to clear out Enjolras' doubts but sighed afterwards, “All I'm saying is that it won't approve the situation for the people. OK, you're right, while the VSOs are there, they have clean water, the nutrition and the hygiene will improve and the people will have a better life in general, but that won't last.”_

“ _It's different from those chlorine tablets some organizations use. Wells are actually a sustainable investment every western culture should be happy to invest in.”, tried Enjolras to convince Grantaire about his ideas but Grantaire just lifted an eyebrow._

“ _All right, they might be. But what happens to the wells after the VSOs are gone? What happens when groups like Boko Haram take control over those wells. Yet another means of pressuring the poor into what they want them to do. Another way to press money and supplies, another way to force men to fight for them. Just by using your precious wells, just by making water even more scarce by controlling the wells.”_

“ _But...”, snapped Enjolras, his mouth snapping open and shut a few times, his eyes scanning Grantaire's face. There was nothing he could reply to that, he had lost his train of thoughts and could not come up with an argument contrary to Grantaire's._

_Grantaire laughed._

“ _You should see your face.”, he snickered and shook his head while Enjolras turned as red as a beetroot and started gathering his things, “What are you doing?”_

“ _Leaving.”_

“ _Why?”_

“ _I'm done here.”_

“ _Monsieur Myriel might not think so.”_

“ _Right, let me rephrase!”, snapped Enjolras, pushed his chair back energetically and hissed, “I'm done with_ you _!”_

_Grantaire just sat there dumbstruck, staring at the furious blond boy in front of him who gathered his notepad and turned to leave. Enjolras was fuming with anger until Combeferre caught up with him a few meter down the hallway._

“ _That was a little too hard.”, he lectured and made Enjolras stop._

“ _He's impossible!!!”_

“ _He's the only one capable of making you speechless.”, corrected Combeferre and sighed, “Maybe you should go back. He is really pale and... I think he might cry.”_

“ _Cry?”, asked Enjolras and finally turned to Combeferre, his heart tightening with the thought that Grantaire cried because of him._

“ _At least his eyes were very glassy.”, corrected Combeferre and shrugged his shoulders, “I think he likes you quite a lot.”_

“ _You think?”, asked Enjolras hollow and felt an unknown heat rise in his chest while he blushed slightly._

“ _Would you like to borrow my glasses because I think you've gone blind!”, groaned Combeferre and laughed afterwards._

“ _But he's always so...”, started Enjolras slowly and Combeferre supplied him with: “Eager to be paired up with you? Ready to let you choose whatever topic you like? Hanging on your lips whenever you talk? Unable to take his eyes off of you? Unmotivated if he has to talk to anyone else but you?”_

“ _OK, right, thanks, I get it.”, groaned Enjolras and felt hot all over now. He had never seen it like that, he had always thought Grantaire just had fun at infuriating him. But then again, now that Combeferre had pointed it out..._

“ _You really have no clue of anything with this, haven't you?”, he asked with a wide grin and Enjolras nudged him bothered, snapping: “Shut up.”_

_He turned around from an impulse then, squaring his shoulders and striding back to the class room._

“ _What are you doing?”, asked Combeferre but leaned casually against the wall, probably grinning slyly._

“ _None of your business.”, called Enjolras over his shoulder which roughly translated to “What you suggested without saying it.” in their very own coding._

_Grantaire was still in the room when Enjolras arrived there. He was still sitting at the table and seemed slumped in on himself, his shoulders hung, his head bowed, arms folded over his chest. Enjolras took a deep breath and strode to him. Looking closer at him, Enjolras saw that Grantaire was hunched over something._

_Grantaire struggled to cover the notepad with his arm when Enjolras stepped next to him, green eyes wide and frantic._

“ _Is that me?”, asked Enjolras quietly and leaned against the table, half sitting onto its corner._

_Grantaire just stared wide eyed at Enjolras while he plucked at Grantaire's sweater so that he would take away his arm. Slowly, gently, he got his way and stared down on a rough pencil sketch of him that was gorgeous._

“ _Oh wow, you are really good at this. What does that say?”, asked Enjolras and squinted at the writing in the left corner, Grantaire's edgy handwriting unfamiliar to him._

“ _Apollo...”, breathed Grantaire and raised his head when Enjolras caught his eyes. Grantaire was white as a sheet and had the look of a deer in the headlights about him. He gulped a few times as if fighting down the urge to throw up and then Enjolras smiled._

_He didn't know why, didn't know what was so funny, but he couldn't keep his lips from moving into a beaming mile, his eyes resting on Grantaire's features for a long while._

“ _Do you want to go out with me?”, asked Enjolras a heartbeat later. Grantaire's eyes went wide and he huffed, spluttered, unable to look at the taller boy. Enjolras reached out and placed a gentle hand on Grantaire's knee. The boy stilled immediately and glared at Enjolras._

“ _I would like to learn more about your hobby... about you.”, said Enjolras, the words coming too easy to him._

_Shouldn't this thing be a struggle, according to the cheesy films about puberty and first dates? Judging from Grantaire's face, it actually was a struggle, because the young artist looked about to faint. Enjolras grew a little uneasy and doubted his suggestion all of a sudden._

“ _I mean... you don't have to... I just thought you might...”_

“ _Of course I want to! Gosh, I'd sell my soul to go out with you!”_

_Enjolras laughed and leaned down, placing a soft, chaste peck on Grantaire's cheek._

“ _I think buying me a dessert or something will be sufficient, but thank you for the effort.”, he smiled and winked at Grantaire who blushed an endearing shade of pink now._

_Enjolras smiled. This was far more easy than their debating. He liked Grantaire flustered, he liked the blush and the sparkle in his eyes. But he also liked the edge that was a consistent part of their arguments. In short, Enjolras thought that he liked almost everything about Grantaire._

 

He rolled onto his back and stared to the ceiling. If he hadn't listened to Combeferre that day, he would not have to lie awake now, would not have to fear the next day to come and could live his life in peace. Combeferre be damned!

Enjolras turned his head and stared at the framed picture of his parents, his mother sitting in a chair, his father standing behind her, his hands on her shoulders, both smiling wide. Enjolras smirked and rolled over to grab the frame from his night stand, not casting one more look at the photo framed and opened the frame up. In the back, covered by his parent's photograph, stuck another smaller photo.

It was withered, its edges frayed, the paper almost turned yellow, but the pencil line on the back of the photo still distinct against the background. An edgy handwriting had labelled the photo _Summer vacation at Combeferre's_. Enjolras smiled into the half-dark of his bedroom and rolled onto his side, the gleaming digits of his alarm clock illuminating the photo when he turned it around.

His past smile was a little embarrassed while he smirked into the bottom left corner of the picture, his hair cropped short, his shoulders narrower and a little more tanned than they were now. Grantaire had draped himself over his shoulders, his arms slung around them, his temple pressed against the side of Enjolras' face. He was beaming into the camera, Enjolras could nearly hear his rambling laughter.

He had come fresh out of the ocean, his long hair slicked back over his head, water beads pearling down his face, his neck and his arms. He had smelled of salt, sea and the mild smell of his spearmint chewing gum. His body had been cool against Enjolras' sun-warmed back and Combeferre had tried to coax them into smiling into the camera.

Enjolras had refused because he was not going to be one of those couples who took the obligatory couple-vacation-pictures everyone took. Grantaire had acknowledged that it had not to be a conventional photo, that he could for example chew off Enjolras' ear which had made Enjolras blush, look away and grin because Grantaire _knew_ that it did things to Enjolras when Grantaire was nibbling at his earlobe. And then Grantaire had laughed, had wrapped his arms around Enjolras and had looked up in time for Combeferre to take the photo.

Enjolras gulped. It was the only photo he had kept. He had not taken it out of the frame since he had snug it in there before he moved out of his childhood room to go to university. He had long forgotten that it was in there, or at least that was what he told himself.

Now Enjolras ran his thumb down the right side of the picture where Grantaire's shoulder was half cut off. Enjolras wondered if Grantaire still remembered that vacation. They had been so happy then. And then Enjolras had destroyed everything not a year later.

He put the frame back and stuck the photo to a larger frame showing a picture of himself with Courfeyrac in their graduation gowns, Combeferre standing between them, grinning proudly. He kept eyeing the photos, his eyes flicking back and forth between his 17 year old self and his 21 year old self. So much time had passed since then and Enjolras again tried to understand what had made Grantaire invite him to the vernissage just now. He failed once more.

 


	2. Chapter 2

“Hold still...”, murmured Feuilly under his breath while he tried to tie Courfeyrac's bow tie, because Courfeyrac had insisted on wearing one although he was unable to tie them.

Enjolras was still folded into his favourite armchair, trying to hide behind a book. Combeferre was humming to himself in the kitchen were he fed Lamarque, already dressed in formal attire while Feuilly cursed the new bow tie that Courfeyrac had insisted on. He himself wore a sharp cut grey suit with a black tight fit button-down underneath.

“Don't you want to get changed?”, asked Combeferre and perched on the armrest next to Enjolras' elbow, nudging him carefully. Enjolras put his book down and peered at the clock. Combeferre was right, if he didn't change now, they would be in danger of running late for the vernissage.

“Don't even _think_ about sabotaging it.”, threatened Combeferre with a fond look in his eyes while he eyed Enjolras intently.

“I didn't say anything.”, complained Enjolras and got up sighing.

“You had that look on your face.”, stated Combeferre and shrugged his shoulders, sliding down into the seat of the armchair.

“What look?”, asked Enjolras bothered and crossed the living room to the hallway. Feuilly chuckled while he squeezed past him towering over Courfeyrac, still fiddling with Coureyrac's black-grey chequered bow tie that matched the burgundy shirt he wore.

“The I-am-up-to-no-good-and-arguing-won't-change-my-mind-once-it's-settled-look you always have when you're nervous.”, called Courfeyrac over his shoulder while Combeferre's laughter followed Enjolras into his bedroom. Sometimes, his best friends were a pest.

Opening his wardrobe, he once again wondered what to wear. He had refused buying a new suit, although Combeferre had objected that he sooner or later would need a new suit anyway if he was going to accompany some of the other lawyers to court in the future. Enjolras had still refused because he did not intend to make this evening a big deal.

So he chose what he was most comfortable wearing: tight fit black jeans, a flaming red shirt snuggling to his shoulders, chest and abdomen and a black waistcoat that he was buttoning down when Courfeyrac appeared in the door. He crossed his arms and leaned against the door frame, smirking brightly.

“What?”, asked Enjolras suspiciously, picking up his usual perfume after bundling his hair into a casual bun.

“Nothing.”, smiled Courfeyrac, “If I weren't in a happy and fulfilling relationship... or to be more precise, if you weren't too prude to consider the idea of me and Ferre helping you to blow off some steam from time to time...”

“God.”, groaned Enjolras and shook his head bothered but amused. He knew that Courfeyrac was outgoing what his sex life was concerned, but he still couldn't understand how he could get so attached to him that he really wanted him to share a bed with him and Combeferre. The thought alone was enough for Enjolras to shiver uncomfortably. Combeferre was more a brother than a friend to him, that was simply wrong.

“Your miss.”, cackled Courfeyrac and slumped down on Enjorlas' bed, “Ready to go?”

Enjolras looked himself over in the mirror. He was too pale and because he had barely slept last night, there were dark shadows under his eyes. He rubbed a finger over one shadow, hoping to lessen it but was – of course – without any success.

“Hey...”, said Courfeyrac and his voice was surprisingly quiet now. Enjolras turned form his mirror to his friend and found that Courfeyrac was frowning at him. “Are you ok?”, asked Courfeyrac and cocked his head.

Enjolras forced himself to smile and sat down next to Courfeyrac, sighing. He shrugged his shoulders and tried to find words to express how insecure he was and that he did not know what to expect and that that bothered him more than anything. That he was afraid what Grantaire might say to him about the way he had broken up with him all those years ago. He sighed once more and shook his head, settling for the easiest thing to say: “I'm fine.”

“Sure?”, asked Courfeyrac carefully and patted his knee. Enjolras smiled a little forced and nodded. Courfeyrac clapped his hands once and got up to lead Enjolras into the hallway.

Lamarque was dancing around Feuilly and Combeferre, trying to hinder them from leaving the flat. Combeferre knew how to play her game and ignored her, otherwise she would be howling the whole evening. Feuilly instead was patting her back and cooed at her.

“Don't let her manipulate you, Feuilly.”, laughed Courfeyrac and raised on tiptoes to kiss Combeferre who wore a navy three piece suit, looking particularly dashing that evening. They smiled sweetly at each other while Feuilly straightened up and grinned: “You are even begrudging that little attention I'm getting?!”

Courfeyrac laughed bellowing while Combeferre draped an arm around his boyfriend's shoulders and deadpan said: “She's a dog, Feuilly, I didn't know you were _that_ desperate.”

“Ha ha, Ferre, never laughed so hard.”, snapped Feuilly but winked while Enjolras pulled on his shoes, Lamarque doing her persuading-dance around his legs now. He patted down the dog and scratched her behind the ears before Combeferre opened the door to let them all out.

They made their way to the metro station, Courfeyrac hooked under with Combeferre and Feuilly walking next to Enjolras, talking to him about his job at the air conditioning supply factory. Enjolras listened only half-heartedly, regretting that probably later but now his head was just somewhere else than with Feuilly's problems to find a decent sales manager for his team.

About half an hour later, they arrived in front of the gallery. Enjolras' heart was pounding hard while he stared at the first poster he saw for the exhibition. It was a portrait, a mixture of realism, expressionism and the edgy way of sketching that Grantaire always had had. It showed a young man with bright blond hair, closed eyes and a tempting half-opened mouth, chin raised, neck long. Enjolras felt his heart drop while Courfeyrac whistled through his teeth.

“I guess we know who his muse is...”, murmured Combeferre with raised eyebrows and cast a sidelong glance at Enjolras.

“Was.”, said an elderly woman walking up the walkway behind them. She smiled a superior smile and explained: “The early Apollo cycle was his break-through. Nobody knows who this muse was or is and some think he was more a dream than a real person. R focuses on different subjects now. I would recommend to have a look at his studies in scarlet, my personal favourites. His patria paintings are also very nice.”

She smiled once more and waddled inside. Courfeyrac and Feuilly burst out laughing and Combeferre stifled a chuckle in the back of his hand. Enjolras scowled at them, having seen the red thread in those work names as well.

“Come in then, muse, let's look at a bit of patria.”, teased Courfeyrac and hooked himself under with Enjolras, dragging him in behind Feuilly and Combeferre. A moment later, Combeferre produced their invitations from his jacket and gave them to the hostess. She scanned them, smiled and let them through a bright red velvety curtain into the gallery.

The room was buzzing with people, waiters carrying trays with champagne or odeuvre around the crowd while the people were parading in their most expensive evening gowns through the room while on the other hand teenagers were flitting about the paintings, discussing and judging the quality of what they saw. Enjolras had never expected such a mixed crowd at a vernissage.

“Oooh, champagne.”, murmured Courfeyrac and was off to chase one of the waiters, Feuilly following on his heels. Enjolras and Combeferre were left at the entrance, scanning the crowd briefly.

“Shall we have a look at the paintings?”, suggested Combeferre and tugged at Enjolras' sleeve. He shrugged his shoulders but followed Combeferre into an adjacent room where they found the famous Apollo cycle they had heard about. Enjolras rolled his eyes and already intended to leave when Combeferre gave him a scowl to behave.

“I like them, really.”, said Combeferre after they had stepped in front of the third painting, “I've never seen him use colour when we were in school. Didn't he always work with pencils?”

“Only when he was in class.”, remembered Enjolras and cocked his head to examine the painting of his profile – face turned upwards, hair flowing back, eyes half closed, lips slightly parted – with critical eyes, “He favoured charcoal when he could.”

“Didn't you buy him those ridiculously expensive oil paints for your second Christmas?”, asked Combeferre and squinted at a small bronze plate next to the painting.

“Yes.”, sighed Enjolras and had to suppress a smile, “Although we had to return them after he had a poisoning. He always used to suck at the end of his brushes and sometimes got them the wrong way around. So I insisted he bought the even more expensive ones without risking his life while painting.”

“And he still uses them whenever he's working in oils. He likes using acrylic for his recent works, though.”, said a female voice behind them.

Combeferre and Enjolras turned around and found a woman smiling at them. She had a pixy haircut, short, bristly ebony hair standing up in an artificial tousled way, her red lips smiling while her dark eyes remained reserved. She was a curvy woman in a tight black box dress, pearl earrings and a pearl necklace. She wore a small headset over her right ear and clutched a clipboard to her side. She approached them now with fast, determined strides, extending a hand when she had reached them.

“Éponine Thénardier, private and press secretary and exhibition administrator to R.”, she introduced herself and shook hands with Combeferre first, “Sorry to interrupt you so rudely.”

“Étienne Combeferre, pleasure to meet you. And no problem what so ever.”, he said curtly and nodded while Éponine's eyebrows rose.

“Oh, you've went to school with R, didn't you?”, she asked surprised and let go off Combeferre's hand, “He talks about you.”

“Does he?”, asked Combeferre surprised and shot a quick glance to Enjolras to whom Éponine turned now.

“Sebastien Enjolras, pleasure.”, he said quietly and took her hand while her eyebrows seemed to disappear into her hairline.

“Welcome.”, she just said and let his hand go as if burned, “So you came.”

“You seem surprised.”, said Combeferre before Enjolras could open his mouth.

“There were bets going against it.”, stated Éponine coldly but before Enjolras could say anything, Courfeyrac returned with Feuilly, both of them bringing champagne with them.

“Sorry, are we interrupting?”, asked Courfeyrac and raised an eyebrow at Combeferre.

“No, you're not. Thank you.”, said Combeferre and took his glass from his boyfriend, “This is Éponine Thénardier, she's an employee of Grantaire.”

“Hi, nice to meet you.”, said Feuilly and pushed a glass of champagne into Enjolras' hand to shake Éponine's, “I'm Laurant Feuilly, a friend of Enjolras'.”

Éponine nodded smiling and shook Courfeyrac's hand then who flattered: “This vernissage is absolutely perfect. I think it is you who deserves all the praise?! My name is Clement de Courfeyrac, by the way.”

“Oh, how nice. Now we can even add _royal attendants_ to the next press release.”, she smiled and Courfeyrac bellowed a laughter.

“God, no. That's just a remnant of old times. Something to do with the late Middle Ages and some distant ancestor being promoted from scribe to knight. But we are too far away from that and the only thing left is the particle. I hardly use it.”

“Just to show off in front of women, then.”, grinned Éponine, intend on embarrassing Courfeyrac.

“Not really.”, he smiled and took Combeferre hand in his, grinning mischievously.

“Sorry!”, said Éponine mortified, “I didn't mean to...”

“It's all right, don't worry.”, laughed Courfeyrac while Éponine blushed.

“So, how's working for an artist?”, tried Feuilly to lull her into a conversation but before she could answer him, a small light on her headset blinked and she raised a hand, listening intently, then she smiled apologetic.

“I am sorry but I have to deal with an invitation problem at the front, but it was great to meet you. Maybe we can catch up later?”, she asked and brushed a hand over Feuilly's arm before hurrying off without an answer.

“Don't tell me you've been trying to chat her up?!”, smiled Courfeyrac and nudged Feuilly while Enjolras watched Éponine leave, wondering how much Grantaire had told her about him. Judging from her reaction, it hadn't been the best things. Then again, his behaviour hadn't been the best back then.

“I haven't!”, rebelled Feuilly against the mock-accusation and nudged Courfeyrac, “And if, it's non of your business.”

They laughed and dragged Enjolras further through the room. He didn't really listen to the conversation between his friends, his eyes searching the rooms they passed for a certain stout figure with long, curly black hair. But the artist didn't seem to be enjoying the attention his works were getting, so Enjolras sighed bothered after a moment of spying and turned to Combeferre.

“Can we go?”, he asked and downed the rest of his champagne, already behind the others who finished their second glass.

“You sound like a spoiled brat.”, laughed Feuilly and pointed to a third room, “I desperately want to see the studies in scarlet series and see if there is also a small blond archangel hidden in every painting like in the patria series.”

“You're ridiculous...”, grumbled Enjolras while Courfeyrac dragged him on with them into the next room. The studies in scarlet turned out to be paintings that Enjolras really liked. He was standing in front of a huge, wall length swirl of red colours that somehow looked like the view from the Palais de Chaillot towards the Eiffel tower and the Tour Montparnasse.

“The colours are just great, aren't they?”, asked a young man stepping next to Enjolras. He cast a quick look at him and took in his pale skin, the slight shadows under his eyes, the sincere face and the bright, brown eyes.

“Impressive, yes.”, he said, not sure how good he would be at discussions of art.

“But they are a pest to get out of the carpet, I tell you.”, sighed the young man and smiled.

“The...?”, asked Enjolras, a little confused about the change of topic.

“His room always looked like a colour pallet and if he was coming out of his room, there was paint on his trousers, his hands and fingers and he once managed to get a whole footprint in bright green onto the living room carpet. Don't ask me how the colour got there.”, laughed the young man and extended his hand to Enjolras, “My name's Noël Joly, by the way. I've been living with R and Jehan during our time at university.”

Enjolras grasped his hand carefully but did not much more than nod. He would not be judged by yet another person he did not know for a mistake he had made as a mere child.

“So, how do you know R?”, Joly asked smiling and dropped his hand.

“We've been to school together.”, clipped Enjolras, crossing his arms awkwardly. His rescue came in the person of Combeferre who came over and said a little surprised: “Doctor Joly?”

Joly turned around and straightened up surprised, saying: “Oh, Doctor Combeferre, I didn't know you were... I didn't think you were into fine arts.”

Combeferre laughed and patted his shoulder lightly, Enjolras watching as surprised as Courfeyrac and Feuilly, having trailed behind Combeferre.

“Everyone, this is Joly, the new assistant surgeon I told you about?!”, introduced Combeferre and looked expecting at Courfeyrac.

“Oh, right, yes. He says you're the one doing the most precise cuts of all surgeons in the hospital.”, praised Courfeyrac and shook Joly's hand enthusiastically, “My name's Courfeyrac, I'm his boyfriend.”

“Oh, hi. Hello, nice to meet you. Heard a lot about you.”, said Joly beaming and returned the handshake equally enthusiastic. Enjolras raised an eyebrow. Those two joyful souls combined could possibly scare away a rainstorm just by laughing at it. Enjolras dreaded this unholy union to become tighter, threatening to haunt his every gloomy hour yet to come with laughter, cuddling and...

“Enjolras?”, asked Joly in that moment, turning to him, “ _The_ Enjolras?”

A deep silence settled and Enjolras saw how Combeferre and Courfeyrac shot excusing glances at him while Joly stared with wide eyes. Enjolras straightened and squared his shoulders before saying: “I don't know what you mean by _the_ but yes, I am Enjolras. Hello.”

“Hah, Éponine owes me twenty quid.”, grinned Joly and winked at Enjolras who said gloomy: “I heard about it.”

“Great, then you can tell my boyfriend that I didn't force you to come because he said he would pay for a vacation on the Bahamas if you came.”, laughed Joly and Courfeyrac joined in a second later. Enjolras felt like an animal in a zoo shown off to everyone, so he stuffed his hands curled into white-knuckled fists into his pockets and turned on his heel, striding out the room without minding the objections of Combeferre or Feuilly.

He had made his way halfway through the gathered crowd in the main exhibition room when everyone suddenly turned to a small, make-shift stage in one corner where Éponine had gathered up a microphone from the floor. Enjolras got stuck between an elderly couple and some kids that looked like local art students and couldn't move to the side anymore as Combeferre and Feuilly circled him in.

“What're you doing?”, hissed Enjolras while Feuilly hooked himself under with him and kept him in place.

“You don't leave a vernissage before the official opening, has no one taught you any manners?!”, teased Feuilly and turned him towards the stage. Enjolras just grumbled while Éponine announced the artist who would like to welcome the crowd.

“And now, with not much further ado, some applause please for R!”, closed Éponine her short speech and started applauding awkwardly while she still held the microphone.

Enjolras' heart started speeding while she turned to the side of the stage, the people around him clapping, while a person took the two steps to reach Éponine. He felt like his stomach received a blow and his hands went cold, his head turning as red as a beetroot when he finally caught a glance of the artist now taking the microphone.

“Wow, he changed.”, breathed Combeferre who couldn't take his eyes off of Grantaire.

And boy, he was right, thought Enjolras and couldn't take his wide eyes off of his ex-boyfriend. Grantaire smiled and laughed, waiving while the clapping didn't die down. The insecure, self-concious stocky boy from school was no where to be seen on that stage.

His hair was cut short – Enjolras had never liked the idea of Grantaire with short hair and now he saw his suspicions proven right – so that his once so lush curls were not obstructing his eyes anymore. His chubbiness had gone, he was wearing a tight fit emerald button down, his shoulders were brought and finely toned, that much was even visible under the shirt. His belly was still not flat, but his whole body testified to an activeness that Enjolras did not know from Grantaire. He wore expensive looking suit trousers and his shoes shone like diamonds. Gone were the ragged Converse Chucks, the jeans with thousands of holes in them and his too wide hoodies.

His smile was bright and sincere – his teeth still a little crocked though –, he kept looking at the people, laughing with glee about the not ending applause. His boyfriend would have kept his eyes to the floor, would have had to be dragged onto stage by at least two persons, but now he stood up there and captured the crowd, including Enjolras.

The little flaws Grantaire had always hated so much about himself were not bothering him anymore. Not the a little too bushy eyebrows, not his twice broken nose, not the beard shadow that always made him look older than he was. He seemed to be at peace with himself and even seemed to relish the attention.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!”, laughed Grantaire and his velvety voice that sounded so much more grown-up than when he had last heard it send shivers down his spine, “Please, you make me blush!”

The crowd laughed and from somewhere behind himself, Enjolras heard Courfeyrac tell his boyfriend: “Geez, he's _fucking_ attractive.”

Enjolras looked back up the stage, hoping somehow that Grantaire would see him in the crowd, would make eye contact. Because he wanted an explanation, an explanation why Grantaire had changed so much, why there was nearly nothing left of the boy he'd been in love with. Enjolras' heart sank a little while Grantaire laughed again. His laughter... that was the only thing that had not changed and it hurt Enjolras that Grantaire shared it now with so many people.

“Thank you all so much.”, said Grantaire and paced a step towards the edge of the stage, “It means a lot to me to be welcomed with such open arms to Paris. I knew that my paintings are quite popular in the rural areas I come from but to see them be loved in Paris, the city of the arts, means the world to me, so thank you for supporting me on my first evening in Paris.”

Another round of applause and now Enjolras found himself clapping as well, recovering a little from the shock of seeing the change in his teenage-sweetheart. He gulped against the lump in his throat, feeling pride swelling his chest, a pride about Grantaire that was not his to feel. Combeferre glanced over at him and Feuilly was eyeing him from the corner of his eyes and Enjolras struggled to keep his face even.

“But then again, I would have never come so far and had the trust in my own abilities if it was not for one person.”, said Grantaire in a more solemn voice and changed the hand on the microphone. Enjolras' heart sped up again. He had always told Grantaire to trust in himself, to trust in his abilities and he thought honestly that Grantaire was referring to him now. Except that he didn't.

“I would like to thank my muse, my best friend and partner, Jean Prouvaire! Come up here, love!”, said Grantaire with a fond smile and held out a hand to the edge of the stage. Enjolras felt his head swimming and his stomach drop.

This was wrong, this was not what was supposed to happen. Grantaire had someone? This made no sense. Enjolras heart raced. Why had Grantaire found someone when Enjolras still loved him? He could hardly breath while he confessed to himself that he was still in love with Grantaire and to see that he had moved on nearly made him faint.

Meanwhile, a slender young man stepped onto the stage. He wore a matching two piece suit made from black velvet, a white button-down and his long, amber coloured hair fell over his shoulders in soft, artificial curls. He was a delicate person with a shy but sincere smile and a face that made it hard to determined whether he was a man or a woman and Enjolras was somehow sure that he... or she?... played with this ambiguity.

Jean Prouvaire stepped to Grantaire and kissed him on the cheek, wrapping one arm around Grantaire's waist, the other hand resting on Grantaire's chest while a bright and fond smile was on his features. Grantaire tightened his hug around him and kissed his temple, the crowd cheering while Enjolras flexed his hands at his side.

“And now I would like to wish us all a fantastic evening, a great exhibition and I am really looking forward to talking with you about my art. Feel free to come and talk to me, I don't bite.”, finished Grantaire his short speech and while people laughed, Enjolras whirled around and strode out of the room. He didn't come far, though.

“Are you already leaving?”, asked Éponine, looking up from the guest book by the entrance. Enjolras didn't think of talking to her but the little distraction was enough for Combeferre to catch up with him and grab him by the elbow.

“Woah, woah, Enjolras, where are you going?”, asked Combeferre and turned Enjolras around. He saw that there were worries and concern in Combeferre's eyes and grid his teeth. Combeferre just narrowed his eyebrows and whispered: “I didn't expect he would have a boyfriend, I'd never made you go if I knew. I am sorry, Enjolras, really.”

A warm feeling nestled into Enjolras' chest while he couldn't keep himself from grinning at Combeferre. He brought up a hand and patted his friend's shoulder while he said: “I assure you, nothing of this is your fault. How could you've known? I don't blame you.”

“I'm still sorry. Come in again, will you? Let's have a last glass champagne and talk a little bit with Joly. He's great and you'll like him. And you know that Courfeyrac and Feuilly were looking forward to this so much. Let's stay just a little while longer, OK? I'll hide you under my jacket when he comes over.”, said Combeferre and winked.

Enjolras boxed his shoulder lightly and grumbled: “You're an absolute idiot.”

“I love you too, Enj.”, smiled Combeferre and Enjolras followed him back into the main exhibition room, feeling like stepping into the deepest abyss of hell. His friends were standing in a corner, talking to Joly and a taller man with dark skin and a shining bald head. While Joly and the man were laughing at something Courfeyrac had said, Combeferre and Enjolras stepped to them.

“OK?”, asked Feuilly in a hush and touched the small of Enjolras' back slightly. Enjolras just nodded, not used to being the centre of the attention of all of his friends.

“Ah, Combeferre!”, smiled Joly and took the hand of the taller man, “I wanted to introduce you to my boyfriend. Arnaud Lesgle, but everyone calls him Bousset.”, he then turned to the man – Bousset – and smiled most widely, “Sweety, this is Combeferre, you know, my tutor from hospital. And this is his friend Enjolras.”

“Pleasure to meet you two!”, said Bousset in a deep, vibrating bass voice that seemed to come from the depth of his bones. He shook hands with Combeferre and Enjolras and watched them both interested, “You're also a lawyer, I heard?!”, he turned to Enjolras then.

“I am.”, he said cryptically and turned his back to the crowd, feeling a little better after he had forced himself to stop searching the gathering for his ex.

“So what do you say to the so called 'equal rights act according different sexual orientations'?”, he asked, making the quotation marks with his fingers.

Enjolras raised an eyebrow at that question. Combeferre, Courfeyrac and he had talked about the act a great length since it had been made public that the government was thinking about decreeing an act that would force companies or other economical corporations to employ a certain percentage of every sexual orientation.

While the politicians thought it was the best idea they had had in years, most of the people felt offended and stigmatised. Gays and lesbians along with bi-, a-, trans-, pan-, demisexuals and all other sexual orientations had declared that it was degrading to be forced to make a statement according to their sexuality in their CVs.

“It is degrading.”, started Enjolras carefully, “And it shouldn't be necessary. It is stigmatizing people and will even raise suspicion, prejudice or hostility against sexual orientations that are not hetero. I think this is just an act that will discriminate more than it will help.”

“That's what I've been saying.”, said Joly quietly and nodded slowly, “If companies or institutions are forced to hire a certain percentage of people, they will stop hiring people as soon as that percentage is fulfilled. That will result sooner or later in bigger discrimination.”

“I don't really see why it should be necessary to even _have_ such an act. You don't have to state your religion or your philosophical orientation in your CVs either, so why the sexuality? What does it concern my employer whether I kiss men or women?”, asked Combeferre sternly.

“Or transsexuals or non-binary people or gender-fluid people, for that matter.”, added Feuilly and took a sip from his glass, “I mean, it is a big issue that people of different sexual orientation are still faced with prejudice and suspicion and even hands-on hate, but an act will not ease this. It will not change the way people think, that will only be changed by openness of us towards others and about proper education... not that semi-religious crap that is knocked into children nowadays.”

“There are more pressing matters in society anyway.”, grumbled Bousset and got a surprised look from Enjolras and Combeferre, “Don't get me wrong, hating on different sexual orientations is just wrong for crying out loud, but there is poverty in the streets of Paris, why are the politicians not trying to solve those problems?”

“Exactly!”, said Courfeyrac and his cheeks started glowing, “That is _exactly_ the question! Why put an act like this to vote while there are matters that concern many more people?! Sure, there is prejudice and discrimination against people like us but what about the people who work three jobs and can't bring their family through the week? What about the kids that can't go to school because their parents do not have the money to support them?”

“Calm down, Darling.”, said Combeferre quietly and leaned over to kiss Courfeyrac's temple. While his boyfriend grew quiet, Combeferre looked back at Joly and Bousset, “But he's right. The poor are getting poorer while the rich are getting richer.”

“And that is the illness that gnaws on the flesh of our country.”, said Enjolras gloomily and looked at Joly and Bousset in turns with his friends, “There are a few people in the top ranks of our country who grope at everything that's golden and shiny. They sit on top and do not worry for anything but their own enrichment. They have no eyes for their fellow people. As long as they get rich, they won't look beyond the edge of their plate. What happens to the rest of the country is not their concern as long as they're getting richer.”

“Well spoken, Enjolras!”, said Joly gleefully and raised his glass in a silent toast.

“He's always been good with words, hasn't he, Ferre?!”, said a velvety voice behind them.

Enjolras froze. Of course he knew that voice and he had been so mindless to let his attention slip. He had been too careless. He saw the smile on Combeferre's face blossom while latter's eyebrows rose in happiness.

“Grantaire, how nice to see you again!”, he smiled and pushed past Enjolras, wrapping his arms around the smaller man's neck. Enjolras turned slowly while he heard Grantaire and Combeferre laugh delighted, patting down their backs enthusiastically.

“And you changed, holy shit, Grantaire, look at you!”, said Combeferre after a moment and held Grantaire by the shoulders away on arm-length, shaking his head in wonder.

“And you still look as nerdy as on the day we met.”, laughed Grantaire and nudged him, “And I heard you're a doctor now, congratulations.”

“Neurosurgeon, actually.”, corrected Combeferre grinning while Grantaire smiled still wide. Combeferre wound an arm around Grantaire's shoulders and Enjolras saw in them again the boys he had known, grinning wide and boisterous. “May I introduce to you: my boyfriend Clement de Courfeyrac, lawyer and people's rights activist. How about your 'you'll never find someone willing to cope with your nerdiness' now, Monsieur?”

Grantaire threw his head into his neck and laughed whole-heartedly. He nudged Combeferre fondly and hugged Courfeyrac afterwards. He smiled at the man with the auburn fuzzy hair and said: “It's a pleasure to meet Combeferre's boyfriend. You know, I thought he would die a virgin when we were at school.”

“Oh, he's as far from a virgin as your paintings are from toddler drawings, let me tell you.”, winked Courfeyrac and nudged Grantaire who laughed: “Relieved to hear that, you should get a medal.”

“Ehm...”, grinned Joly and backed off a step, “Before I get to hear more slippery details about the sex-life of my boss, Bousset and myself will be off to look at a few more pictures. It was nice meeting you guys, have a nice evening.”

And with those words Joly and Bousset vanished into the crowd, waiving at them one last time. And although that had been a quite unsubtle hint at the slippery commentary of Courfeyrac and Grantaire, they seemed to be far from done.

“I wanted him to call me head boy for obvious reasons, but he refrains.”, chuckled Courfeyrac and shot a loving glance at Combeferre while Grantaire laughed once more and told Combeferre: “I already like him and I barely know him.”

“This is our friend Laurant Feuilly, he's junior manager in an air conditioner firm that invest into sustainable resources and less chemicals.”, introduced Combeferre the two men after laughing and Enjolras just stared, unable to understand what was going on, the light-hearted chatter, the laughter, the smiles. He couldn't understand them because he was dying a thousand deaths while his friends were enjoying themselves.

“Pleasure to meet you.”, said Grantaire and shook hands with Feuilly, his smile open and sincere. Then – after what seemed like an eternity – Grantaire turned to Enjolras, his smile only shifting a little on his face.

“Enjolras...”, he said and hearing his name from Grantaire's lips was nearly more than he could take, his heart beating frantic, his pulse rushing, “It's been a while.”

He didn't move to shake his hand, was barely able to look at him and then Enjolras caught a glimpse of the insecure boy he had fallen in love with and a small, desperate smile stole itself onto his own face. He gulped and hoped his voice was more steady than his hands that shook frantically before he said: “You look great.”

“Thanks.”, said Grantaire and looked away, waiving at someone a little afar, “Ehm... I would like to introduce you to someone.”, he added then, grinning at Combeferre again, “As you seem to already know Joly and Bousset, there's just one more person left to meet.”

Jean Prouvaire stepped to the group and smiled while Grantaire wound an arm around his waist. Up close, his skin was marvellous, his eyes a warm grey and his lips rosy. He smiled not so shy anymore now that they were fewer people and the way his eyes wandered over Courfeyrac, Enjolras was sure that there could be trouble.

“Everyone...”, started Grantaire and made a point not to look at Enjolras, “This is Jehan, my partner.”

“Partner as in...?”, asked Combeferre and raised his eyebrows with a suggestive smile.

Jehan laughed a laughter tolling like silver bells and winked at Combeferre before he answered in a soft, melodic voice: “Muse, partner in crime, harshest critique and friend with benefits, I think.”

“Phew, that's complicated.”, grinned Courfeyrac whose eyes were trained on Jehan intently. The lids of latter's eyes dropped a little and Jehan nearly purred: “It makes things a lot less complicated, actually.”

“What things?”, dared Courfeyrac, a sly smile on his features.

“ _Fun_ things.”, said Jehan with a smoky undertone to his clear voice.

“All right, that's enough, Jehan, the hot doctor with the glasses next to him is his boyfriend.”, said Grantaire in mock-reprimand and nudged his partner...friend...boyfriend...whatever slightly.

“A shame.”, sighed Jehan and winked at Courfeyrac.

“So are you an artist too?”, asked Feuilly interested and fished a glass champagne from a tray nearby, grabbing a second for Jehan and a third for Grantaire. Grantaire waived his off with a shake of his head and Enjolras lifted once more an eyebrow. It was unlike Grantaire to leave out a drink, but then again, how long had Enjolras not seen him? Habits might change. Addictions as well.

“Not directly.”, said Jehan and nodded a thanks for the champagne.

“Oh, don't be so modest, Jehan.”, reprimanded Grantaire fondly, his arm still looped around Jehan's waist, “He is a poet and I love his works. There are already two anthologies of his poems published. It's only a matter of time until the scene really discovers and appreciates his work.”

A tight feeling made breathing hard while Grantaire praised Jehan like that, his eyes rivet at the profile of the other man, a soft and fond smile on his features. Enjolras thought that Grantaire's eyes flicked once to him, but the moment was gone before he could grasp it and afterwards Grantaire spoke only to Combeferre and Courfeyrac, standing on his opposite side.

“He's such a flatterer, isn't he?!”, laughed Jehan and kissed Grantaire's cheek, “He's the big sensation and doesn't hesitate to hold up my flag even on his day of glory.”

“Because I am your biggest fan.”, grinned Grantaire and turned to Feuilly, “Really, you should have a look at the anthologies, they are really great.”

“Mostly because R helped picking out the poems to go into them.”, smiled Jehan and turned to hand back his champagne glass, “So what do you do for a living, Courfeyrac?”

At first Courfeyrac seemed surprised to be the only one addressed, but as Combeferre just took his hand and nodded reassuring, he grinned at Jehan and said: “I am working as a junior assistant at a law firm in town. I don't know if you heard of it... Prosecutor Javert runs it.”

“Well, who hasn't heard of Javert nowadays?”, asked Jehan back and rolled his eyes.

“It's only a temporary solution, though.”, declared Courfeyrac then as if to hurry to make up for mentioning Javert's name, “When we have the money together, Enjolras and I will open our own law firm to help the oppressed and the poor.”

“Is that so?”, asked Jehan and his eyes rested on Enjolras for the first time that evening. His blood nearly froze as these normally so warm eyes spied him. There was a threat in them, a cold glare that sent a shiver down his spine. All he could do was nod hastily.

“Noble goals.”, commented Jehan dryly and waived over another waiter to grab another glass of champagne.

“Yes, but very hard to achieve.”, sighed Courfeyrac and clicked his glass against Jehan's which was offered by him with a smile.

“To hard goals, then...”, smiled Jehan and yet again Enjolras had the feeling that something feral was lingering behind the gaze of Jehan, once more trained hard on Courfeyrac's features.

Combeferre, who did not particularly like the way that Jehan was watching his boyfriend – and the way Courfeyrac was responding to it – grabbed his hand. Jehan was a likeable person and very friendly and Combeferre had instantly taken a liking in him, but this was crossing a boarder Combeferre was not comfortable with. He trusted Courfeyrac with his whole heart and soul but that did not mean that he had to tolerate how those two were obviously flirting in the most shameless of ways.

“So...”, he distracted the glance with which Jehan was devouring Courfeyrac, “How long are you staying in Paris before you need to go to the next exhibition opening?”

Grantaire furrowed his eyebrows for a moment, thinking hard while Jehan took a sip champagne, when Éponine came to the rescue of her boss: “That depends on how well the Parisians respond to the exhibition. If it doesn't get much attention, we will have to be in Metz in about a week. If it is successful though we will stay longer for promotion and press work.”

“She's an angle, isn't she?”, asked Grantaire and Éponine cocked her head, raising her eyebrows in dismay while she said – words thick with sarcasm: “Oh yes, of course, me, angle, of course.”

“Then I guess Jehan is the devil on your shoulder, is he?”, asked Feuilly and made everyone laugh. Everyone, except Enjolras. His heartbeat had calmed down and his pulse wasn't thrumming in his ears anymore, but he could still not take his eyes off Grantaire.

He was ignoring him so thoroughly that he could not understand why he had invited him here in the first place. He had thought they would talk, maybe clear things up or anything, just anything. But here he was, being thoroughly ignored, not able to help himself in any way. And oh, how Enjolras wished that they would talk. He had so many things to say, so many words that kept piling up on his tongue, unable to unravel so that he nearly chocked on them.

Meanwhile, the others had recovered from laughing and Combeferre said: “Well, if you are going to stay here longer, how about we meet up for breakfast or go out for drinks in the evening? I mean, it would be a shame if we didn't spend more time together.”

“That is actually a great idea. How about you come to our hotel on Sunday morning?”, asked Jehan and snatched a scrap of paper from Éponine's clipboard and borrowed her pen to scribble down the address, “They serve a really great breakfast there and maybe we can get them to bring a brunch to our room, what do you think?”

“I think if we pay them, they will.”, grinned Grantaire, the last remains of his cynicism not yet vanished which tore at Enjolras heart more than he had thought it would.

“You're invited, too, Feuilly, if you have time.”, said Jehan and handed the paper to... Enjolras. Hesitantly Enjolras took the scrap and stored it away in the back pocket of his jeans. He got briefly aware that Grantaire was watching him, but when he looked up, Grantaire was raising his head because one of the gallery's employees was beckoning him away.

“Excuse me, guys, my presence is needed otherwise. It was really great to catch up, Ferre, and I'm looking forward to Sunday so much. Feuilly, nice meeting you and Courfeyrac, be prepared to be pestered about your nerd-boyfriend on Sunday. I can't wait to hear how you two met.”, he was already backing away, walking backwards, leaving Jehan with them. He was smiling wide and his eyes flicked to Enjolras, his smile becoming a little strained as he said: “Bye, Enjolras, see you.”

And with those words he vanished. Jehan kept watching Enjolras a little moment longer, then he excused himself too – not without trading cheek-kisses with both Courfeyrac and Feuilly – and went to follow Grantaire. Éponine smiled at them and said: “If there should be any trouble at the reception, just give me a quick call and I'll get you up.”

She handed her business card to Combeferre and left afterwards, smiling friendly. Enjolras deflated and found himself faced with three pair of worried eyes. He rubbed his forehead for a moment, then he sighed and faced them properly again, assuring them in a quiet voice: “I am all right.”

“You don't look like it.”, said Combeferre concerned and took his elbow once again, like he always did when he worried, “Come on, let's get outside and have some fresh air around ourselves. You look close to fainting.”

“I am not fainting.”, grumbled Enjolras, “Who am I? A Disney princess or what?”

“No, but you've looked at him like he was the only thing on this earth keeping you alive.”, declared Courfeyrac carefully and followed on Combeferre's heels, Feuilly a concerned frown on his face.

“I-am-fine.”, snapped Enjolras pressed while they stepped outside.

“Of course you are.”, said Combeferre quietly, “And you will be even better after we've lulled Jehan and Éponine out the room that you can have a hands-on talk with Grantaire on Sunday.”

“I...”, wanted Enjolras to protest but Combeferre just shot him a look over the rim of his glasses and said calmly: “Enjolras, I know you. Don't act like that's not what you wanted to do the whole time he was standing with us.”

Enjolras sighed and hung his head. Sometimes, it was perfect that his best friend knew him that well and at other times it was just a curse. Today, it was the curse.

 

*

 

Enjolras raised his head when the door opened on the evening of the day after the vernissage. He was reading one of the novels Feuilly had pressed upon him – The girl with the dragon tattoo by a some Swedish author that everyone but him had read at least three years ago – and launched on the sofa, relishing the silence of the flat without his friends.

Lamarque came galloping up to him and hopped onto the sofa, climbing all over him to plant herself on his chest, snuggling her small snout against his neck. Her nose was warm and her heckling moistened his curls.

“Uagh, Lamarque, get off!”, he grumbled and swatted fondly at her, swiping her off the sofa carefully. Lamarque backed off but kept looking at him out of dark eyes, begging for a little cuddling. Enjolras reached down and scratched her behind her ears. Combeferre and Courfeyrac followed her finally, grinning at Enjolras taking up the whole space on the sofa.

“How was your walk?”, he asked them and closed the book, putting it down on the coffee-table while not taking his hand out of Lamarque's fur.

“Interesting.”, grinned Courfeyrac, lifted Enjolras' legs effortless and slumped down, cradling his legs in his lap.

“How so?”, asked Enjolras and struggled up when Combeferre came to sit on his other side, producing a plane piece of paper out of his back pocket.

“Well, we've been to Square Maurice Gardette, like planned, and took a stroll through the park.”, declared Combeferre and grinned. Enjolras raised a confused eyebrow at him. He knew the park, it was nothing special, nothing exciting or interesting in close distance to the park. Something was off, again. And again, Enjolras had no clue what it was.

“So what's been so interesting then?”, asked Enjolras and sighed a little bothered.

“We've found some pretty interesting things there.”, said Combeferre quietly and waived the paper in front of Enjorlas' face. He grabbed the paper – a little damp from being outside on a rainy day – and unfolded it.

The printing was done in red letters, a dark shade of red so that reading was easy. Enjolras cocked his head while his eyes flew over the first few sentences on the paper.

 

> _Humans have never lived as loners. In fact, ever since the human race evolved, humans have lived in groups. Restrictions and rules that guide these groups have only been put on humanity in recent years._

 

“What's this?”, asked Enjolras a little confused and looked from Combeferre to Courfeyrac, both grinning.

“Keep reading...”, ordered Combeferre quietly and Enjolras sighed bothered, but kept reading.

 

> _Philosophers were the earliest to put rules down, politicians and clerical dignitary followed in their footsteps. The intentional character of respect and morals, that is innate to humanity, has been replaced by rules of few, to guide the future of many._

 

Suddenly, recognition dawned in Enjolras and his eyes widened. He skipped a few paragraphs and his eyes caught on the beginning of one of the last ones:

 

> _It was common practice for Greek men to take a boy under their wings to teach them the art of love, in every moulding they deemed right. Great Roman emperors like Nero have been known to sleep with men. Alexander the Great, who was the ruler over one of the greatest empires the world has ever seen, was in love with one of his generals and friend, Hephaistion._
> 
> _All those great men were homosexual. They did great deeds and had great influence over the world. And no one would have sneered at them for their relationships. Only in recent years, under the influence of Christianity, homosexual relationships have been condemned._

 

Enjolras dropped the paper and glared at Combeferre, ranting: “You _kept_ this?”

“I didn't.”, said Combeferre and seemed surprised, “Are you telling me you didn't spread them all over Paris?”

“Spread them all over...? _What_???”, gaped Enjolras, turning to Courfeyrac who held up his mobile.

“There, Feuilly send pictures. Combeferre knew that it was your writing, but we didn't know you didn't spread them.”, said Courfeyrac and showed Enjolras the pictures.

The first was a photo of the Champ de Mars, littered with white papers with red writing. Courfeyrac swiped over the mobile and the next photo appeared: Jardin des Tuileries, covered in leaflets. Another swipe, another picture: leaflets, poster sized, covering the Opera Garniere – swipe – the Champs Élysées – swipe – the Hôtel National des Invalides.

Enjolras gulped and raised his eyes to Courfeyrac's face. His friend watched him intently, a grin on his features. Enjolras looked back at Combeferre who seemed quite pleased with himself as well.

“And what makes you both grin so smugly, may I ask?!”, he snapped, getting up to bring some space between them. He stepped over the narrow coffee-table and started pacing, his hands folded on his back.

“Don't know.”, grinned Courfeyrac and leaned back, arms crossed behind his head, “Maybe that these leaflets target the very controversial act about to be put to vote and try to rouse the people of France. Have you seen the link at the bottom? A blog has been set up featuring your pamphlet. There is also a hashtag, as far as we know.”

Enjolras stopped dead in his tracks and glared at Courfeyrac.

“A hashtag?!”

“Yes, Enj, the things they use on twitter, you know, the little grille thing you can put your topic into?!”

“Thanks, Courf, but I _know_ what a hashtag is... I mean... Who the hell is spreading pamphlets I wrote years ago without me knowing?!”, ranted Enjolras.

“Oh that.”, laughed Courfeyrac, his laugh dropping, his face growing stern, “We don't know.”

“Great, this is a nightmare.”, groaned Enjorlas and crumbled up the paper he'd been still holding, tossing it over Combeferre's head. Lamarque dashed off her seat at Courfeyrac's feet and chased the paper ball into the kitchen.

“You are exaggerating things a little here, Enj.”, said Combeferre calmly and watched him pacing.

“Exaggerating?”, snapped Enjolras, “I am _exaggerating_?!”

“Please, calm down. What bothers you so much about this? It is opening people's minds up to the matter. This pamphlet is well written and...”

“But it is so radical!”, snapped Enjolras again.

Combeferre gaped at him while Courfeyrac's head snapped up, equally confused. Enjolras knew what bothered them. He always stressed that there was sometimes only the radical way that would bring success. But if he thought about it just now, he acknowledged for how long he had really started to take the more moderate approach to his goals, ducking his head more often than sticking up for his ideas. He pushed the thoughts back.

“Too... radical...?”, asked Courfeyrac and cast a quick glance to Combeferre, who was still staring at Enjolras, “I'm sorry, who are you and what did you do to our friend?!”

“Oh, shut up, Courf!”, barked Enjolras and started pacing again.

“Enjolras.”, said Combeferre quietly and started kneading his hands thoughtfully, “Calm down and tell me why this bothers you so much. You wrote that pamphlet to be read. Why is it so bad it has appeared now?”

“Because...”, Enjolras spluttered, then raised his hands and laced his fingers into his hair. He took a few deep breaths and composed himself. Combeferre was right, he could not just rant at his friends without an explanation. And he was right that he had written the pamphlet to be read.

“You are right, Ferre, I wrote that pamphlet to be read. But that was over five years ago and times have changed. _I_ have changed. Those words are too harsh to be put to a wide audience. It was meant for the people at school, hot-headed youths like we were then. Like I said, it is too radical for the broader part of the population. Many will feel offended.”, he explained carefully.

“But many others feel offended by the act. Don't you think that will give them something they feel supported by? And I am fairly positive that it will also shape the way people think about this act.”, stated Combeferre calm and watched Enjolras slump into the armchair.

“Yes, I agree with Ferre. People will see that there are others who are not on board with this new act and they might think about fighting against it too.”, mentioned Courfeyrac and winked at Enjolras.

“Firstly, I am not fighting anything here because I have not published that pamphlet. Secondly, we still don't know who got their hands on my school-writings. I keep them in a USB drive in my bedside drawer. And as you did not take it, the thing that worries me most is how this pamphlet got out in the open in the first place.”, grumbled Enjolras, watching Lamarque pat into the living room again, a completely sodden ball of paper in her mouth.

“I wouldn't worry.”, said Combeferre and got up, walking into the kitchen to get them something to drink, “You published the pamphlet back in school. It was in the student's paper. Maybe it was kept in some sort of archive or was catalogued online. Maybe someone dug it up and is using it now.”

“But why my writing?”, asked Enjolras bothered and crossed his arms.

“Because it's bloody great, that's why!”, sighed Courfeyrac and settled back into the sofa, Lamarque hopping up next to him, placing her head in his lap.

“But it was directed at the homophobic tendencies of the school's sports team. It has nothing to do with the act.”, tried Enjolras to argue the usage of his pamphlet.

Combeferre, carrying three cups and a thermos, his fingers looped through the handles, came back into the living room and acknowledged: “Maybe it has to do more with the act than you think. It might not be homophobic in the first place, but it is still stigmatizing a differing sexual orientation from what the people think the norm is.”

“And maybe people will feel encouraged by the writing, like I said.”, stated Courfeyrac who leaned up to kiss Combeferre's cheek while he put down the thermos and the cups on the coffee-table, leaning over the back of the sofa, “This is no debate about homophobia, that's right, but it is still showing that homosexuals are not an abomination.

“But it is radical and...”

“You said that.”, interrupted Combeferre and handed him a cup of black tea with milk.

“I know.”, grumbled Enjolras, “And if you would have let me finish, I would have added that there will be others who will feel offended by me just defending homosexuals. How would you feel if your personal freedom as a bisexual or pansexual was threatened by an act and then you find a leaflet that just defends one sexual variety?”

“I would think that at least someone is trying to do something about the situation and would think about sharing in this fight.”, said Courfeyrac while he tugged himself into Combeferre's side, Lamarque whimpering because he abandoned her.

“Which actually is no fight.”, said Enjolras gloomy and took a sip of his tea.

“Just wait until some more have read the pamphlet. Maybe there will be a developing movement, who knows?!”, acknowledged Combeferre quietly.

“When have leaflets and internet campaigns ever shown any positive results, Ferre? This will change nothing. The people will duck their heads and the act will be passed. I don't think my writing will change any of that.”, sighed Enjolras.

Combeferre and Courfeyrac exchanged a worried glance, then Courfeyrac hid behind his cup while Combeferre leaned forward slowly. He put his cup down and pushed his glasses up, licking his lips as he gathered his words.

“Enjolras, I don't mean to be a pain in the neck, but may I tell you that you are looking way too sceptical at this?!”, he asked softly and drilled his dark eyes into Enjolras'.

“Sceptical?”, asked Enjolras back, nearly chocking on his tea in shock, “I would say I am the only one who has a rather healthy and _realistic_ approach to this whole muddle.”

The door bell wrung and Lamarque darted off the sofa, rushing into the hallway, barking in a high pitched voice.

“Lamarque, equality!”, called Courfeyrac and struggled up, the barking seizing while Combeferre was still not giving in.

“I am sorry to tell you this, my friend, but you are growing into a sceptic pessimist lately. Courfeyrac tells me you are working for Champmathieu in this bank-scandal case...”

“What has the case to do with this?”, asked Enjolras unnerved while he heard Courfeyrac rattle with the chain barring the door.

“Well... the Enjolras I grew up with would have never taken that case in the first place.”, acknowledged Combeferre quietly and watched him intently, “And he would have never been so passive if a new act was to be put to vote that would threaten the freedom of the people of his home country.”

“Are you saying I'm indifferent?!”, asked Enjolras irritated.

“I am not saying you are indifferent, all I'm saying is that you've changed. And not for the better.”, finished Combeferre their short discussion as Courfeyrac's laughter echoed to them from the door.

Enjolras glared daggers at Combeferre and snatched up his book, drawing his knees to his chest and placing the book against his thighs, pretending to bury himself in it. This discussion was ridiculous. Enjolras and indifferent! What a thought! He cared greatly! Why would he work his butt off to make the money needed for a own law firm if he didn't care? And Courfeyrac had said himself to duck his head and take whatever was necessary to achieve their goals!

“Now look at you all bundled up and domestic.”, laughed a well known voice from the hallway and Enjolras' blood froze. He nearly dropped his book had it not rested against his legs while his eyes flew up.

Courfeyrac led Grantaire and Jehan into their living room, grinning like the Cheshire Cat. Jehan wore a illegally tight jeans with holes over the knees, biker boots and a black tank top with a flowery pattern under a rather feminine light leather jacket. He seemed to wear eyeliner and rouge matching his dazzling smile.

Grantaire looked less formal than yesterday. Faded black jeans, leather Converse Chucks in black, a black shirt with an emerald green print and an unbuttoned shirt in a matching shade of green. His hair was tousled and made him look livelier – sexier – than yesterday while he smiled at Combeferre who darted off the sofa.

“Jehan! Grantaire! What a surprise! What are you doing here?!”, grinned Combeferre and hugged Grantaire like a vice, hugging Jehan briefly afterwards.

“Well, we had your address, we were in the arrondissement after taking dinner at a very nice brasserie just around the corner and thought we pay a visit and see if you are up to go out with us?”, declared Jehan and winked at Courfeyrac, who grinned wide.

“We didn't plan to go out.”, said Combeferre unsure and cast a quick glance to Enjolras who had not moved, staring at their guests in silent panic.

“Well, we can change that, can't we?”, laughed Jehan and draped a slender arm around Courfeyrac's shoulders, “Three attractive young men should not stagnate at home on a Saturday evening. It would be a loss for the gay community _and_ the world.”

“You are being overly dramatic, Jehan.”, reprimanded Grantaire fondly and shook his head with an eye-roll towards Combeferre.

“Wasn't it you who raved yesterday about into what an attractive man Combeferre has grown in the last eight years and what a loss to the world it was that he was hidden in a hospital all day?”, teased Jehan and winked at Grantaire then.

Enjolras tried to hide behind his book because Grantaire was playing the same game as yesterday, ignoring him as best as possible while he was being charming and fond with all the others around him. If this was his way to punish Enjolras for what he had done all those years ago, Enjolras was not up for playing his game and rather pretended to be ignoring him as well. Although secretly pining was probably not how you didn't play this game.

“So you're not only overly dramatic but also a traitor, is that it?”, asked Grantaire in pretended shock and clutched the fabric of his shirt over his heart.

“No, not a traitor at all.”, teased Jehan back and made a step towards Combeferre, linking his arm with Combeferre's, “I am just giving praise to whoever deserves praise.”

“Could you please make up your mind with whom of this relationship you want to be in a flirtationship with because you are confusing me.”, bickered Grantaire fondly and Courfeyrac laughed delighted while Combeferre blushed.

“So what do you say, are we going out or are you being stay-at-homes for the rest of your lives?”, asked Jehan and grinned challenging at Combeferre, “We've passed a nice little club not far from here, it should open in about an hour or so. Have you been out dancing lately?”

“I think I haven't been out dancing in ages.”, said Combeferre carefully and smiled when Courfeyrac added: “Although I keep pestering him about it since last time we went, which was exactly a year and eight months ago, on our anniversary.”

“And it was a disaster.”, added Combeferre gravely.

“How come?”, asked Grantaire and flopped onto the sofa as if it was his home he came to. Combeferre settled down next to him, Courfeyrac half in his lap, half on the sofa. Jehan sat down on the armrest to Grantaire's right. Lamarque came over and hopped into Grantaire's lap without hesitation. Enjolras glared at her, while she was heckling happily. She was a traitor, all of them were.

“Well, I got the elbow of a guy next to us in the face after about the third track and landed in the emergency reception of the next hospital because of a broken nose and glass splinters in the left cheek from my glasses.”, explained Combeferre drily while Grantaire laughed sympathetic.

“Then we should definitely go out dancing. You know, once fallen off the horse, you should get on it immediately or you'll never try to learn to ride again.”, said Jehan grinning and everyone turned to him.

“And what allegory was that?”, asked Courfeyrac teasing and smiled wide while Jehan puffed himself a little up and declared: “My own. It's called poetry, you cretin.”

They laughed again and finally, Grantaire's eyes fell on Enjolras' and locked for a second. A flood of adrenalin shot through Enjolras' body and he felt his ears and cheeks flame up with heat. His green eyes had been twinkling like on the photo that was still stuck to the frame on Enjolras' night stand and his smile didn't crumble while he looked at him. Enjolras cast his eyes down a moment later, not able to hold Grantaire's smiling gaze.

“So what now? There are only two ways to answer: yes, we're coming or yes, of course we're coming. Choose wisely.”, ordered Jehan and smirked at Courfeyrac.

“I guess it wouldn't hurt to go out again. Maybe just get a table somewhere and have a drink...”, suggested Combeferre and raised his eyebrows at Courfeyrac.

“They had tables and drinks at that club, you know.”, interrupted Jehan and grinned slyly.

“OK, all right, fine. We are going out with you and we'll be going to that club you liked.”, groaned Courfeyrac but laughed when Jehan threw his fists into the air and cheered happily.

“And that's how easily Jean Prouvair wraps you around his little finger.”, sighed Grantaire sad and winked at Combeferre before he buried his nose into Lamarque's fur. Enjolras gulped high in his throat and wished hard that it were his hair Grantaire would bury his nose in. As soon as he had thought that thought, he saw how bizarre it was and scrunched up his nose at it.

“What about you, Goldy Locks, are you coming too?”, asked Jehan and grinned when Enjolras looked up surprised.

“I don't dance.”, said Enjolras, feeling how his throat rasped with nervousness.

“Only if they play Ramones or Sex Pistoles and they seldom do that nowadays.”, smiled Combeferre and turned to Grantaire: “Remember that one Friday when we went to that biker bar and Enj was totally terrified until he found out that a Ramones tribute band was on the schedule?”

“Oh yes, it was golden!”, laughed Grantaire and looked over to Enjolras who blushed even more and grumbled: “Could we please leave the skeletons in the closet?!”

“So are you coming or what?”, asked Courfeyrac now with glinting eyes. Enjolras scowled at him briefly for he hated it when Courfeyrac wasn't on his side. Because that meant he had a fierce enemy in whatever discussion would come.

“I don't do dancing.”, stressed Enjolras once again and tried to pick up his book once more when he caught the green gaze of his ex-boyfriend again.

Grantaire smiled softly, a knowing sparkle in his eyes as he put Lamarque down, never leaving Enjolras' blue eyes. He cocked his head a little and pulled up the right corner of his mouth, his eyes falling shut only a little. Too late Enjolras recognized horrified what he was doing and couldn't look away anymore while Grantaire ask in a low, half-purring voice: “What if I asked you to, Sebastien?”

He must have known the effect of his words, of his posture, of his half-closed eyes on Enjolras and he had shamelessly exploited Enjolras' weaknesses. Again, adrenaline was rushing and his heart was pounding like mad. Grantaire had never used his first name, not in public. It had been whispered, between kisses, in the morning when they woke up, in promises to meet after class, in secret phone calls in the middle of the night... God, they had been so ridiculously and sickeningly sweet.

And Enjolras had thought that that had all vanished, but it hadn't. It came all back rushing over him when Grantaire used his first name and all he could do was stare and gulp and gulp and stare. His brain short-circuited a few moments while he heard Courfeyrac giggle stifled and saw Grantaire's smile widen with every moment he did not answer.

“I think it would be good for you to go out with us, Enj.”, tried Combeferre to save his best friend from more awkwardness and managed to tear Enjolras' stare from Grantaire. He was still flushed and found his tongue heavy when he turned to him, gulping before he stuttered: “I don't... you know that I don't do dancing.”

“But they have tables and something to drink, just come and we see what the evening will bring.”, encouraged Combeferre once more and stared pleading at him. Enjolras was aware of Grantaire's eyes on him and saw the sly smile on Jehan's features out of the corner of his eyes. He took a deep breath, held it for a moment and said, the air rushing out with every word: “Fine, I'll go with you!”

“Whoop whoop!”, made Jehan and bounced up and down, shaking Grantaire slightly, “Dancing is happening!”

“I already regret this.”, groaned Enjolras and hoisted himself out of the armchair slowly.

“Oh come on, you grump, it's going to be fun!”, declared Courfeyrac and left the sofa as well, darting off to his and Combeferre's room to get changed. Enjolras left the room too, striving to seem casual but not sure if his departure didn't look completely like the flight it actually was.

In his room, he closed his door quietly and leaned against it, his head thumping back against the wood. Dancing, with his ex-boyfriend, his current partner and another couple which happened to be his best friends. He wasn't feeling like the fifth wheel at all, this was completely perfect.

His heart hammered while he thought about leaving the flat over the fire escape. He would be out in five minutes and at Feuilly's flat in another half an hour. Nobody would know. And it was absolutely no cowardice in leaving over the fire escape. A knock directly behind his head made him jump.

“Enjolras?”, whispered Courfeyrac's voice outside the door, “Let me in.”

Enjolras groaned and turned, opening the door for his friend. Courfeyrac had not changed and slipped into his room in an instant, taking a hold of his shoulder immediately. He looked deep into his eyes and asked: “Are you OK?”

“Of course...”, declared Enjolras and hated how raspy his voice still was.

“You looked like you had a stroke out there. Are you sure you're fine?”, asked Courfeyrac a little more pressing and cocked his head, furrowing his eyebrows.

“Really, Courf, I am fine. It's just... He was... I don't know what...”, stuttered Enjolras and closed his eyes bothered about his lacking eloquence.

“I know. Really, I know it must be hard.”, sighed Courfeyrac and tried to wrap an arm around Enjolras who just stepped back, making an irritated face.

“It seems not to be hard for him.”

“You don't know that.”

“Does he seem uncomfortable to you?”

“No, but some people are just good actors.”

“You don't know him.”

“I know enough about you to imagine what kind of person he has to be if he's worthy of being loved by you.”

Enjolras scowled at Courfeyrac and nearly growled at him while he walked over to his wardrobe. Courfeyrac didn't think of leaving and so slumped down on Enjolras' bed, staring at his friend intently.

“So what does one wear when one's going dancing?”, asked Enjolras to distract Courfeyrac's worries and glanced a little helpless into his wardrobe. He's never been much of a party-person, sure he accompanied Combeferre and Grantaire in their youth and he has went out with Courfeyrac and Combeferre later but he always felt a little out of place.

“Something you're comfortable wearing. Don't make a big deal out of it.”, advised Courfeyrac and watched how Enjolras got changed into a pair of black jeans and a plane, red cotton henley. He turned to Courfeyrac and spread his arms a little, raising his eyebrows.

“So?”

“Not bad...”, grinned Courfeyrac and stepped up to him, winding up his blond hair into a messy bun and fixed it with a black hair band. He carefully drew a few strands out at the temples and ruffled the top bit a little up.

“There...”, smiled Courfeyrac and placed a quick peck on Enjolras' cheek, “Now you look luscious!”

“Ha ha.”, made Enjolras and pushed Courfeyrac a little, blushing slightly.

“Right, I'm getting changed and you don't even _think_ about escaping over the fire escape!”, threatened Courfeyrac and Enjolras smiled again about how good his friends knew him, “And now out with you, otherwise they'll think you're hiding!”

“Maybe I am...”, grumbled Enjolras while Courfeyrac pushed him out of the room and towards the living room.

Combeferre, Jehan and Grantaire had settled down on the sofa and talked about Combeferre's work at the hospital, Combeferre's cheeks glowing while he talked about the latest surgery he had performed. Enjolras didn't feel like facing Grantaire already and vanished into the kitchen, hearing Lamarque follow him immediately.

He raised on tiptoes and got out her food, pouring the can into her bowls and tried to fend her off with his legs, while she tried to burry her head in the bowl before Enjolras could fill it.

“Lamarque...”, he growled threatening but the little stray didn't listen to him, like always.

“There... let me help you...”, said the velvety voice again and Lamarque got dragged back carefully by a paint splattered hand.

Enjolras looked up and found Grantaire smiling at him, Lamarque held back by her collar. His heart beat frantic while the can shook in his hands. Grantaire smiled even wider and let go off Lamarque who dived into her bowl.

“I never thought you were a dog-person.”, he said casually and straightened up when Enjolras did. He put the can into the sink and turned around, crossing his arms awkwardly. He gulped and thought about a matching retort but lacked words.

“She's a cute little thing.”, added Grantaire after a moment and watched her fondly.

“We got her from the streets.”, declared Enjolras hollow, relieved that they were actually talking about the dog, “Courfeyrac found her. She's been hit by a car. Combeferre splinted her leg and we nursed her. Somehow we never gave her into a shelter like we had planned...”

“How noble of you. And who came up with the name?”, asked Grantaire, leaning back against the counter top, watching Lamarque devour her supper.

“Me.”, stated Enjolras quietly and got a blast of laughter out of Grantaire. He turned to Enjolras finally and smiled at him.

“Of course...”, he smiled and looked up when Jehan called over to him: “R, how was that place called you took me and Éponine the first evening in Paris?”

“Le Petit Dakar.”, answered Grantaire at once and left the kitchen to accompany Jehan on the sofa again. Enjolras' stomach dropped and he poured himself a glass of water, swallowing against the hard lump of disappointment in his throat.

About half an hour later they left the flat towards the club Jehan had spied on their way. Courfeyrac had linked arms with Jehan and Grantaire, chatting happily and freely as if he knew both men all his life. Combeferre was integrated in their conversation although he walked next to Enjolras who stayed silent all the way to the club.

They were ushered in without hesitation when Jehan spent a dazzling smile on the guard at the door. The club was crammed full and loud, people laughing, shouting, dancing and drinking. Jehan approached an employee and talked to her briefly, she smiled after a moment and lead them towards a rostrum on which a few tables stood. They got a corner niche and slumped into the bench, huddled together while the waitress took their orders.

Enjolras was crammed between Combeferre and Grantaire and he hated Courfeyrac for shrinking away and pushing Enjolras down next to Grantaire. This had been his plan all along and Enjolras would have a word with him about this as soon as they got back to their flat.

“Ehm... a glass of water, please.”, ordered Enjolras as soon as it was his turn. Jehan laughed giggling and the waitress had to ground her teeth not to laugh as well.

“Still strictly non-alcoholic?”, asked Grantaire and winked at him. Enjolras nodded sharply and averted his eyes. When it was Grantaire's turn, he sighed and said: “I'll have a cognac, any cognac, a good one. And I'll have five shots of tequila and salt and lemons.”

“I don't...”, started Enjolras but Grantaire just waived off, grinning at him while his knee under the table brushed over Enjolras'. He stiffened and felt heat pulse through his body.

“Let me spoil you, just this once.”, Grantaire grinned and Combeferre elbowed him. Enjolras nodded sharply and leaned back, trying to bring his knee away from Grantaire's who seemed to notice and grinned even wider. Fucking tease, always had been and always would be. Enjolras had to fight a grin and relaxed his thigh muscles, bringing their knees together again.

“So Enjolras, are you ever doing something fun or are you always so brusque?!”, shouted Jehan over the racket, leaning in and grinning a little feral again while he draped an arm around Grantaire's neck. Enjolras didn't know what to answer, felt mocked and looked away, aware of Grantaire's eyes lingering on his features.

“What about you?”, asked Combeferre a little bothered about Jehan always picking on Enjolras, “Are you never aware when you're crossing a boarder?”

“Be civil, friends.”, tried Grantaire to lessen the tension and shot a warning glance at Jehan who smiled again, moving his shoulders a little in time to the music. Courfeyrac was turning Combeferre's face to him by placing a palm against his cheek, turning his face away from Grantaire and Jehan, talking to him in a hushed voice.

The waitress saved them from an awkward silence when she came over and served them. As she left, Enjolras eyed the tequila in front of him like it was a poisonous snake. Grantaire laughed and nudged him.

“It won't bite, you know.”, he teased and Combeferre leaned around him, reminding Grantaire: “Remember the last time Enjolras had tequila? It ended with him nearly drowning while skinny dipping.”

“Ferre!”, shrieked Enjolras who had sworn both Combeferre and Grantaire to complete secrecy about that incident and having it discussed in an overcrowded club was nothing he wished for.

Grantaire and Combeferre laughed loud and Courfeyrac tried to get the whole story out of his boyfriend but Combeferre refrained from telling him. So did Grantaire when Jehan tried to get him to talk. Enjolras sighed bothered and wished he had staid at home.

“So how does this work again?”, asked Enjolras to distract them and eyed the plate with the lemons and the salt shaker.

“Like this.”, said Grantaire, grabbed Enjolras' wrist and raised his hand. He grabbed the salt shaker and ran his tongue – Enjolras' brain short-circuited again – over the side of Enjolras' hand between thumb and forefinger, his eyes never leaving Enjolras' while doing so. The heat that shot directly into his lower abdomen was not good at all and fuck, the feeling of Grantaire's breath over his moist skin was enough to make Enjolras' vision swim.

“Take the salt”, lectured Grantaire, took the salt shaker with his other hand and poured salt onto Enjolras hand, “On the hand, grab your tequila”, he did so and grinned wickedly while he raised Enjolras' hand to his lips again and placed his mouth on his skin. Enjolras fought hard that his eyes did not roll back into his head when Grantaire's lips pressed hot against his skin and he sucked the salt off with too much tongue... far too much tongue.

Grantaire let go off Enjolras' wrist, emptied the tequila and reached for a lemon as if nothing had happened. Enjolras didn't succeed in biting back the whimper in his throat fully and was thankful for the loud music while Courfeyrac and Combeferre gaped at Grantaire biting in his slice of lemon, pretending that licking his ex-boyfriend's hand was no big deal.

Jehan mimicked his motions smoothly – emptying the second shot – and grabbed Grantaire's hand afterwards, his words harsh and somehow raw when he ordered: “And now we dance.”

“We dance.”, agreed Grantaire and let Jehan drag him out of their corner bench and down onto the dance floor.

“Geez...”, breathed Combeferre next to Enjolras and elbowed him carefully, “Are you OK?”

“Jaha...”, made Enjolras although a few octaves higher than usually. The skin of his hand was still tickling where Grantaire had licked him and heat rolled through his body wave after wave. He gulped a few times high in his throat and grabbed his tequila, downing it without salt or lemon.

“Are you sure?”, asked Courfeyrac and his smile was a little more suggestive than Enjolras liked.

“Yes, stop being a nag.”, snapped Enjolras and grabbed his glass to drink a bit water to get the taste of alcohol out of his mouth. At least he could blame the heat in his lower stomach on the alcohol and on nothing else.

“Courfeyrac!”, called a voice over and the three of them turned to the few steps leading up to their table. Jehan was standing there, already moving to the music, flinging his leather coat onto the bench next to Enjolras, “I though we're here to dance?!”

“Course we are!”, laughed Courfeyrac and downed his tequila as well, getting to his feet and holding out a hand to Combeferre, “Are you coming?”

“I think I'd rather stay with Enjolras.”, shouted Combeferre over the racket and Enjolras heard in his voice how worried he was.

“Nah!”, he called and shook his head, elbowing Combeferre carefully, “You go, I am fine.”

“We can also dance all three, come on, Enj.”, grinned Courfeyrac, already moving to the stomping bass of the song.

“No, I'm good here, just go and enjoy yourselves.”, ordered Enjolras and grabbed his glass.

“Sure?”, asked Combeferre concerned and tried to read in his features. Enjolras laughed and nudged him again.

“Yes, maman, go and have fun. I'm a big boy and can sit all by myself.”, grinned Enjolras and shoved Combeferre into Courfeyrac's direction.

While Combeferre went over the Courfeyrac, latter mouthed “Thank you!” and gave Enjolras a thumbs up which he just waived off with a smile, taking a sip from his water.

His friends joined Jehan and Grantaire on the edge of the dance floor and started dancing. Courfeyrac was his usual boisterous self and was moving surely and beautifully to the music. Combeferre was a little cautious at first but when Grantaire smacked his arse with a smile, Combeferre shoved him a little and seemed to enjoy himself a little more.

Enjolras let his eyes roam through the club. This wasn't his world, it never had been and would probably never be. Sweaty, half-drunk people everywhere, flirting with everyone who was in reach, being too obvious about their intentions for Enjolras' liking. Everything about such an approach was too impersonal and unromantic in his opinion.

Enjolras shook himself about that thought. He had never been the conventional type when it came to a relationship... or romantic, for that matter. Grantaire had always lamented about his idea of a date: a documentary on telly, a glass of water and some healthy snacks. Maybe that hadn't been the worst part, maybe the talk- and cuddle-restrains during the documentary had bothered him more.

With the memory of one particular afternoon in mind when Grantaire had blown all restrains into the wind and had sucked at his neck during a documentary until Enjolras' head had fallen back against the sofa and Grantaire's hand had snacked down over his chest and stomach to the fly of his trousers, Enjolras shivered and turned his eyes to the dance floor again.

Combeferre and Courfeyrac had vanished into the mass of bodies but Jehan and Grantaire were still in his field of view. They were dancing close together, moving in time with the urgent drumming of the bass, their bodies pressed flushed against each other. Jehan had pressed his back against Grantaire's chest, his whole back arching against Grantaire's body, grinding seductively against him. Jehan's arm was draped back around Grantaire's neck, pulling him even closer to him.

Sweat was glinting in their hair and on their faces while Grantaire pressed his lips to Jehan's jaw, slightly opened panting from dancing. His arms were looped around Jehan's body, his hands resting on Jehan's swaying hips, pressing him against himself. A sliver of skin was seen under Jehan's tanktop where it had ridden up over his hip bones from the friction of their bodies against each other. Grantaire's thumbs pressed into the skin and rubbed hot circles into it while Jehan closed his eyes and let his head fall back on Grantaire's shoulder.

Grantaire raised his head when Jehan took his arm away and pressed his hands to the back of Grantaire's on his hips, grinding back into him more. The green eyes flicked over to their table and Grantaire caught Enjolras' eyes.

He had been staring, his heart pounding, blood rushing in his ears and pumping hard in his temples. He felt dizzy while his hands had gone ice cold, a flaring heat pooling in his stomach while he imagined the lean body against Grantaire's frame to be his own. He didn't need to look in a mirror to know how flushed he was, how dark his eyes had turned and how red his lower lip was from biting down on it. Grantaire took in all of that and smirked just a little.

Enjolras darted off of his seat and left the table in a flight. He pushed against people, rushed out excuses and tried to escape the heat inside him and the tightness of his jeans against him. This was a nightmare, an utter nightmare.

“Enjolras!”

The hand wrapped around his wrist and spun him around. Grantaire had followed him, his eyes still dark, his hair wet from sweat.

“What do you want?”, squeaked Enjolras, dropping his hands to his crotch, hoping that he would not see, turning the gesture into stuffing his hands into his pocket after a moment of reconciliation.

“What is your problem?”, asked Grantaire and caught Enjolras off guard.

“Nothing!”, he chocked too fast and earned a raised eyebrow from Grantaire. The young artist made an all enveloping gesture to Enjolras and said: “This isn't looking like nothing, you know.”

“This is all your fault!”, snapped Enjolras and felt his heart pounding from shame. Once again, his eloquence left him when it came to Grantaire and he couldn't bring himself to tell the truth.

“What is my fault?”, asked Grantaire amused and leaned against the wall next to the exit, his arms crossed and his eyes sparkling.

“You are... this is... why have you...?”, stuttered Enjolras and grabbed his head with one hand, trying to shush the roaring thoughts in his skull, “You are a _fucking_ tease!!!”

“What?”, laughed Grantaire as if this was the best joke he ever heard.

“You bloody know what effect it has on me when you call me Sebastien.”, hissed Enjolras and stepped closer to Grantaire, glaring down on him, “You know I hate clubbing. And why would you lick my hand like that in front of everyone? What is this all about?!”

“I don't know why you're so worked up about all of this.”, retorted Grantaire still amused, grinning smugly.

“You don't know why...?”, parroted Enjolras and turned away briefly to take a deep breath before turning to Grantaire again, “Why are you doing this? Is this a punishment?”

“No. What should I punish you for, it's not like we're together anymore.”, stated Grantaire and shrugged his shoulders carelessly.

These words were like a punch to Enjolras' stomach and he could do nothing but glare at Grantaire who pushed himself off of the wall.

“But that's what you thought when you received the invitation, wasn't it?”, asked Grantaire in a low voice and watched Enjolras nearly a little confused, “You thought that I came crawling back to you now, didn't you?”

There was no accusation in his voice, not hate, no resentment, just curiosity. Enjolras bit his lip while his nostrils flared. He had not thought that, not really, he tried to convince himself but because he was still so unsettled, his feelings were clearly displayed on his features and Grantaire laughed a huff.

“You still thought I was this self-concious, insecure little boy who followed you around like a shadow because I saw in you everything I wasn't.”, laughed Grantaire a little surprised, “You thought you were still my guiding light, the only reason my life made sense, didn't you?”

Enjolras turned under his eyes because yes, that's what he had thought. He had thought that Grantaire finally came back to him and they would be together again. A thumb and a forefinger wrapped around Enjolras' chin and his head was raised by the smaller man. Grantaire still smiled although it bordered on something sad now.

“And you want me more than ever, now that you can't have me... now that our roles are reversed and I am everything you have always striven to be...”, murmured Grantaire and let go off Enjolras chin, “A successful personality whose voice is heard all over France, whose work matters, whose message can be seen...”

He stepped up to him, brought his body completely into Enjolras' personal space and crowded him against the wall next to the door. Enjolras' heart took up speed and the heat in his stomach shot down deeper into his body, a well known throbbing in his pants that made his mouth go dry and his head spin while Grantaire's breath swooped over the skin of his face. Grantaire held his gaze while Enjolras melted into the wall, staring down into the artist's eyes.

“It's too late, Enjolras.”, purred Grantaire and his lips were only millimetres from Enjolras', “You had your chance and you blew it.”

And with those words he turned on his heels and strode back into the club, melting into the crowd while Enjolras felt how the building around him seemed to crumble – just as his heart did.

“Fuck...”, he breathed and covered his face with his hands for a moment, “Fucking shit...”

He needed air, suddenly he needed air more desperately than anything. He pushed the door open and rushed out into the night, trying to flee all those conflicting emotions that mixed in his body. He was so embarrassed that he stalked around the streets of Paris, hard from watching his ex-boyfriend dancing with his new partner, mortified that Grantaire had seen him so heated up from watching and somehow heartbroken because of what Grantaire had said before he left him.

“Taxi!”, he yelled and raised his arm, a taxi pulling over a moment later. Enjolras scrambled on the back seat and slumped into the seat with an exhausted groan.

“Where to?”, asked the taxi driver and glanced in the rear mirror.

“53 République Avenue, please.”, sighed Enjolras and rubbed his face with both hands.

The taxi started moving and Enjolras turned to the window, still feeling hunted and insecure. This was so unlike him, to run. He had always been up for confrontation, but when it came to things concerning his emotions or love in general, Enjolras was lost. And when it came to Grantaire, he was even more lost.

He got under his skin like no one else, the way he had grinned at him, the way his green eyes had shone while Jehan had moved against him...

No! Enjolras' eyes snapped opened and he cleared his throat awkwardly, he couldn't allow his thoughts to go back that direction. This direction was forbidden, more so after what Grantaire had just said to him. He should try to forget that he thought he might get back together with him after Grantaire had sought contact again. He had been an idiot. What had he thought?

“That's five euro ten.”, said the taxi driver and turned around to him. Enjolras snapped out of his thoughts and only then got aware of the shining sign of the pharmacy in the first floor of their building.

“Yes, sorry...”, grumbled Enjolras and dug through his pocked, handing the driver a tenner, “Keep the change.”

“Gee, thanks.”, said the driver and grinned friendly at Enjolras who was already half out of the car.

He crossed the few meters to the entrance door and fiddled his key into the whole, taking two stairs at a time until he got to the third floor. Lamarque nearly pounced at him when he came into the apartment but he just pushed her away with his leg, striding into his room without a pause.

Once again, Enjolras pressed his back against the door and hit his head against the warm wood. He heard Lamarque sniff noisily on the other side of the door and complain with a little whine but he couldn't be bothered just now.

Groaning frustrated because he could still feel Grantaire's fingers on his chin – his fingerprints seemingly burnt into his skin – and walked over to the bed where his comfortable shirt from earlier in the evening lay. He only then recognized it and tossed it in the laundry immediately. It had been a present by Grantaire when they not even had been a couple, a mock-present he had given him in debate club: a plain white shirt with a black, bold writing that stated I'M ALWAYS RIGHT.

Enjolras fished his pyjama bottoms out of his drawer and drew the henley over his head, tossing it in the general direction of the laundry basket. Grantaire had left the shirt uncommented but Enjolras could not stand the thought to wear it again after what had happened.

“Bloody hell...”, groaned Enjolras and opened the fly of his jeans and oh yeah, there was his other little problem.

Enjolras flushed a deep shade of red and was thankful that he was alone in his room, it would be embarrassing how hard he still was just from watching Grantaire and Jehan. He slipped out of his jeans and pulled on his pyjama pants in a hurry, determined to ignore his little problem until it would go away.

He would not sit in his room and touch himself thinking about the way Grantaire had moved to the music, his hips swaying in slow forward circles in time with the music, how his lips had graced over sweaty skin while his eyes had fluttered shut. He would not think about the way his hands had flexed on hipbones, pressing Jehan's backside harder against his groin, both grinding against each other while Grantaire's hands had tensed.

Enjolras stumbled a step forward and braced himself with a forearm against the door of his wardrobe, placing his forehead against his lower arm, groaning while his thighs shook. He would not think about the way that Grantaire's hair had been glistening with sweat, how he had panted into the auburn locks of his dance partner, how his tongue had shot out to lick his lips.

Enjolras' hand shook while he carefully shoved it into the waistband of his pyjama trousers and palmed himself through his boxer briefs. He bit his lower lip hard to stifle the low moan that rose in his throat. Grantaire's tongue had swiped slowly over Enjolras hand, the very hand that was down his trousers now, his green eyes locked with Enjolras' while he had grinned smugly.

“Fuck...”, moaned Enjolras while his hand wandered under the waistband of his boxers.

What would Grantaire have done when Enjolras had grabbed his face after he had sucked off the salt from his hand? He would have tasted salty and would have probably jumped from being kissed so sudden. But Grantaire had always been a sucker for kissing, Enjolras had the ability of making him moan desperately only from kissing. God, and he had made Grantaire moan back in the days!

What would Jehan have done if Enjolras had kissed Grantaire, had shown him what he missed out on if he didn't get back together with Enjolras? Would he have interfered, surely he would have because Grantaire was his boyfriend, was he not? But they had never said they were boyfriends, friends with benefits, yes, they had said that but nothing more so Jehan would probably have protested but Grantaire would have waived him off because he didn't care.

Of course Grantaire wouldn't have cared, because Grantaire cared for no one but Enjolras when they were kissing and he would have fisted Enjolras' hair again like he had always done and _fuck_ it would have been so great to feel those strong hands in his hair again, now that they were long enough to offer Grantaire much to tug carefully at.

Enjolras moaned desperately and didn't mind how loud he was anymore while he twisted his wrist with every downwards stroke.

And Combeferre would have led them away, all of them, would have left Enjolras and Grantaire to themselves and Grantaire would have pushed one hand into his hair while his tongue would have swirled in Enjolras' mouth and his other hand would have snaked over his abdomen, like it had done before on so many occasion, leaving a burning trail on Enjolras' skin and _fuck_ , Enjolras was _so_ close.

Grantaire would have moaned when Enjolras would have bitten his lower lip and would finally have been so kind to palm Enjolras through his tight, black jeans, like he had done one time when they had been alone in the cinema with no one else in the theatre and he would have chuckled into the kiss about Enjolras' desperate gasp and would have given back the bite into Enjolras' lower lip.

Enjolras' long, dragged out moan filled the silence of the flat while he spent into his hand, panting with an open mouth and glowing red cheeks against his lower arm, relishing in the delicate feeling that washed over him.

“Fuck...”, he sighed toneless when he came back to himself and blinked lazily into the light of his bedroom. Carefully he drew his hand from his trousers and moved over to the desk to clean the white droplets from his hand with a few tissues. After binning them, he decided to go to the bathroom to take a shower.

He felt ashamed, dirty and loathed himself a bit for yielding to his most basic needs. He had never before gotten off on a fantasy, he had never touched himself thinking about Grantaire. This was a whole new low point for Enjolras and he couldn't look in the mirror of his wardrobe as he made his way to the door. He would probably never be able to look at a mirror ever again.

Enjolras opened the door, running his hand over his head to push back a few more loose strands of blond hair when his eyes snapped up and he froze. Courfeyrac was leaning against the door frame of the bathroom, grinning insinuative. Enjolras gulped and couldn't move, didn't know what to say, how to behave.

“So I think this means you're actually all right, does it?”, he asked and grinned wide.

“I...”, stuttered Enjolras but found no more words.

“We were worried, you know...”, grumbled Courfeyrac and suddenly his facade broke and he furrowed his eyebrows, making Enjolras go back to his room that smelled so much of sex that Enjolras wished to open all the windows.

“I... I'm sorry. You needn't...”, started Enjolras and Courfeyrac sat down on the edge of his desk, crossing his arms.

“Ferre is out, looking for you at Feuilly's. We didn't think you would go home. What happened, Enjolras? Grantaire refused to tell us.”, declared Courfeyrac and cocked his head.

“It was... They were... I was... Gosh, Courf, don't make me tell you, I might _die_ of shame.”, grumbled Enjolras, slumped on his bed, propping his elbows on his knees and cradling his face into his hands.

“It is only natural to still feel attracted to your ex, Enj, no shame in that. And to be honest, if Marius would lick my hand like that, I would probably hump his leg in an instant.”

“Courf!”

“Sorry, that was a touch too much! But Enj, I get that you felt something when R did that. Jesus, that looked _so_ hot and I wasn't even on the receiving end of it! You left because you had to...”

Enjolras was glad that Courfeyrac just let the sentence trail off and didn't push anything. He could be direct and a little filthy at times, but in the right moments, he knew how to speak to people to make them find their centre again. Just like now.

Enjolras raised his head from his hands, folded his hands and nodded slowly. There was not more needed, he knew that Courfeyrac understood and it was good that he had been here and not Combeferre. Because there were some things that Enjolras just couldn't share with Combeferre. And this was one of those moments.

He looked up when Courfeyrac got up and came over to the bed, slumping down on it and hugging Enjolras. He was taken a little aback but returned the hug a moment later. When Courfeyrac let him go, he was settled down once more and didn't feel so bad any more. Courfeyrac brushed some hair out of his face and smiled reassuring.

“There's no shame in it, Enj, don't worry. Sometimes you just need to do what your body tells you. No one will judge you for it and I won't tell anyone, if that eases your mind. Promise.”

“Thank you, Courf.”

Courfeyrac smiled once again, leaned forward and placed a chaste peck on Enjolras' cheek. Still smiling, he got up and pointed out the door.

“And now off to the shower with you, you smell like you've been laid by the whole club...”

“Courf!!!”

“Too early?!”

“Definitely!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The few quotes from Enjolras' pamphlet have arisen from a conversation I had with a few students of Classical and Ancient Studies concerning the "normalty" of homosexuality in the ancient times and the change of that view with the advent of Christianity, a very interesting topic that I thought fit for a pamphlet Enjolras would write to defend people...
> 
> Also this was my first try on writing something sex-related. Comments and/or suggestions for improvement are very welcome ;)


	3. Chapter 3

“Come one, sleepy head, we got to get going or we'll be too late for brunch with R and Jehan!”

Enjolras growled and rolled up a little tighter under the mountain of blankets. Combeferre tickled his foot and Enjolras yanked it away, literally snarling at his best friend.

The blinds were opened and sunlight flooded into the room, making Enjolras hiss.

“I didn't know we lived with a vampire.”, laughed Courfeyrac, leaning against the door frame and watching the lump on the bed that was actually Enjolras, hidden by three blankets and a truck load of cushions.

“Me neither.”, grinned Combeferre and tried to snatch a few blankets from Enjolras who just snarled again and clutched them tighter. Combeferre groaned a little irritated but fond and chided: “Get up, Enjolras, or we're really going to be late!”

“Not goin'”, grumbled Enjolras from under the blankets and tugged himself in tighter again.

“You are not being childish and hide in your bed just because Grantaire has been a little inappropriate yesterday. We are grown ups and don't sulk because of small matters!”, tried Combeferre again.

“Not! Going! Get out...”, declared Enjolras muffled by the blankets and Combeferre groaned irritated now.

“Just leave him be.”, smiled Courfeyrac and took a sip from his coffee, “His loss if he's going to miss a free brunch.”

“But...”, started Combeferre and grabbed a cushion from Enjolras' bed to hit him with it but Courfeyrac was fast enough to stop the fond blow.

“Come on, Doctor.”, smiled Courfeyrac and drew him to the door, “Let him sleep in if he wants.”

He raised to his tiptoes and kissed Combeferre briefly, batting his eyelashes at him so that Combeferre rolled his eyes fondly and left Enjolras' room towards the bathroom to get his watch before heading out to meet up with Grantaire and Jehan for brunch. Courfeyrac turned to the pile of blankets and told them in a low voice: “You owe me...”

“Thanks...”, mumbled the pile back and Courfeyrac left to feed Lamarque before getting changed for a casual brunch at Grantaire's hotel.

Enjolras hid under the covers until he heard the front door lock again and heard Lamarque pat over the hardwood floor of the hallway into his room. He glanced out from under the covers and saw the dog sitting in front of his bed, wagging her tail and panting happily.

“You are very manipulative, you know that?”, groaned Enjolras and dug his way out of the covers, sitting up in his cocoon and stretched yawning.

“Courf fed you, I heard it. So what do you want?”, he asked the dog and she stood up, wagging her tail faster and watching Enjolras excited.

“You've been out with Ferre, you've been fed. What else is there that you could want?”, asked Enjolras with raised eyebrows and smiled while Lamarque started pattering on the spot, “Oh right, the princess wants a cuddle!”

Enjolras got up and swooped her up in his arms, Lamarque snuggling against his chest and neck with a happy little whine while Enjolras patted her. On the way into the kitchen, he told her in a reprimanding voice: “But don't tell Ferre and Courf I called you _princess_ , we're not doing that in this household and I can't be opposing monarchy and establish it at the same time in our flat, can I?”

He put Lamarque down and made coffee and some toast for himself, sitting down at the kitchen table while Lamarque curled up over his bare feet. A piece of toast in his mouth, a cup of coffee in one hand, he drew the paper towards himself and turned it over from laying face down on the table. The sip of coffee in his mouth landed in a spray of brown droplets over the kitchen table and Enjolras dropped his toast.

Lamarque watched him as he scrambled for his phone, still in his room, and returned in a fast trot, the phone already dialling through to Combeferre. He heard the speaker clicking, knew that Combeferre had picked up and did not even wait for him to greet him but barked: “Did you look at the bloody paper this morning?!”

“Oh, hi Enj, nice to hear from you! How are you today?”, asked Combeferre deliberately calm to make Enjolras take a deep breath.

“Sorry.”

“No problem. But to answer your question: no I haven't. Why?”

“ _You_ are on the title page!”

Silence on the other side of the line. Enjolras propped himself up on one arm and bend over the table to glare at the title page. The paper titled _Red Vandalism Strikes Paris Again_ , under the headline there were twelve photos of public buildings with red graffiti on them. One was a portrait shot of Combeferre, the writing on the bottom of the graffiti read _Successful Neurosurgeon, 26, Gay_.

“Excuse me?”, asked Combeferre, sounding a little reserved, like he always did when he was confused.

“You are on the title page, for god's sake! We all are.”

“And what's the title story?”

“Red vandalism strikes Paris again.”, read Enjolras out and described further what he saw, “There are twelve photos under the headline, all official buildings like the Louvre, the Arc de Triomphe, Hôtel de las Invalides and so on. And on every building there is a graffiti of a person, in the style that my photo was in on the National Assembly.”

“And I am on there?”, asked Combeferre and summed up quickly what Enjolras had said for Courfeyrac. Then he sighed deeply and asked: “Courfeyrac wants to know if he's there too and on which building he is.”

“He is there, like you and me, like Feuilly and your assistant doctor and a handful other people I don't know.”

“And what is this all about?”

“To make Paris nicer.”, heard Enjolras Courfeyrac giggle in the background.

“Under the picture they state the profession of the person, their age and their sexual orientation.”

First Enjolras feared that the line had went dead, but then he heard Combeferre groan.

“For everyone?”

“Yes, for everyone, for fuck's sake!”, barked Enjolras harsher than he meant and started reading out loud, “Successful neurosurgeon, 26, gay. Idealistic lawyer, 26, gay. Ambitious defence lawyer, 25, pansexual. Hard-working junior CEO, 27, bisexual. Striving assistant surgeon, 24, demisexual... I mean, who besides us does know Courfeyrac is pansexual?”

“No one! Good god...”, groaned Combeferre and Enjolras nearly heard him rubbing his face with his free hand.

“Can I now please worry about people using my writing and myself for their cause?”, snapped Enjolras and sunk onto the chair.

“Maybe...”

“What do we do?”

“What do you mean? We can't do anything!”

“But surely we must distance ourselves from this!”

“What if I don't want to?”

Enjolras took a breath to say something, only then he recognized what Combeferre had said. He gulped and changed his mind about what he was going to say.

“What do you mean?”

“Enjolras, they – whoever they are – are showing the people that having a different sexual orientation than heterosexual is a normal thing now. That you can be a good and successful person even if you are not fitting into the norm. Isn't that a good thing?”

“Yes but... privacy, Combeferre, the right for privacy!”

“They didn't put down your address, your name or your phone number. It's just a graffiti in red. Oh, Courfeyrac's is on the Grand Palais by the way!”

“I see that, Ferre, thanks for pointing that out again.”, grumbled Enjolras and rubbed his face.

“Calm down, will you? This isn't so bad, Enj. Let's talk about it when we get home, OK? Don't freak out.”

“Me and freaking out? Who do you think I am?”, asked Enjolras and hung up, burying his face in his hands before groaning annoyed again.

This was such a muddle, all of it. First his face on the National Assembly, then on the Arc de Triomphe. His pamphlet spread all over Paris, the hashtag #dsosr – different sexual orientation, same rights – trended on twitter and the clicks on the blog with his pamphlet were sky-rocketing since the moment the blog had been launched.

He should have been happy that someone fought against the injustice that this act was. He should have been proud that his writing had been chosen to be used, that he was chosen to give the movement a face. He should have tried to find the people staging this protest, should congratulate them and offer his services.

And when Enjolras had been younger, he would have. He would have rejoiced, would have launched his own campaign, would have fought against the act on all fronts and would have written speeches until Combeferre came into his room to send him to bed because he had been reciting a paragraph aloud although it had been two in the morning.

But Enjolras didn't. He was tired, he had worn himself off on too many disappointments in his struggle for equality and justice and a better life for those who were oppressed by society and the ones in power. He had tried to change the world by force and had not succeeded. So he had sworn himself to change the system from within. He had worked and worked and worked, first at university, then in small lawyer offices, then in Javert's law firm. But nothing had changed anything.

Enjolras was exhausted and resigned.

“Come on, Lamarque, we're going out.”, sighed Enjolras and patted back into his room, getting dressed slowly and deep in thoughts.

About twenty minutes later, Enjolras had Lamarque's leash wound around his wrist and strolled towards the metro station down their street. Lamarque zick-zagged in front of him, greeting the warm late May day with a boisterous mood, eager to get to a park and chase a few pigeons. Enjolras boarded a metro with her and glanced briefly on the plan. There were quite a few stops to go on this line but Lamarque was used to journey on the Metro, so Enjolras saw no problem by it.

After four stops, Lamarque started pulling a little on the leash and Enjolras woke from his musing to see what she had been up to. She was straining towards a young man sitting across from Enjolras a few feet further down the row, grinning at her and luring her with murmured words. He was bulky, had a neck like a bull, long dreadlocks and a dark, dense beard. His eyes were nearly black and sparkled delighted by the small dog... Judging from his piercings – a stud in the septum and a ring through the eyebrow – and his tattooed sleeves, Enjorlas had not thought him to be so wooed by a small dog.

“Sorry!”, said Enjolras and tugged Lamarque back, “Did she bother you?”

“No no no no no! Not in the slightest!”, grinned the young man eager and cocked his head, “A she? What's her name?”

“Lamarque.”

“Like the great general and politician who died in 1832?”

Enjolras blinked surprised. He had never met someone aside from Combeferre and Courfeyrac – and just recently Feuilly – who could picture someone under the name they had given their dog. His surprise must have shown on his face because the man laughed delighted.

“I know, I don't look like I care for something as boring as politics and history. Never judge a book by its cover, you know.”, he grinned and winked at Enjolras.

“Sorry, normally I'm not so superficial. It's just not very common to know General Lamarque.”

“A pity, isn't it? He's been such a great man and could have probably changed a lot if he hadn't died so early.”

“Yes, I agree. Our society would need more men like him nowadays.”

“Pf!”, made the young man and shook his head irritated, “Not even an army of Lamarque's could make things better in France. There is just too much wrong. Just take this new act about to put to vote. It's just ridiculous.”

“Ridiculous!?”, echoed Enjolras and raised an eyebrow.

“Yes!”, said the man bothered and leaned forward, folding his hands between his knees, “I mean, politicians practically spit on the values that the Revolution established. Equality, yeah, we have that, we just put an act in place that will even strengthen equality by making people report if they are out of the norm. Liberty, of course we have liberty and it is also liberty when we're forced to state our sexual orientation. Of course that's liberty, you just have to squint really hard to see that. And fraternity... of course, we trust each other so much that we need to control who we employ and why.”, his words were dripping from sarcasm.

He was flushed by the time he ended and was panting a bit, glaring daggers at Enjolras who was – for the first time in a really long time – impressed by a stranger.

“Well spoken, ehm...”

“Bahorel, Rémy Bahorel, nice to meet you.”

“Sebastien Enjolras, a pleasure.”, said Enjolras and leaned forward, shaking hands with his new acquaintance, “You should think about writing speeches for an activist group, you seem talented.”

“Thanks, Enjolras. But I'm more talented in more physical fields. I have a strong opinion though, too strong sometimes.”

“It's nothing wrong with having an opinion, we would need more people to speak up in order to change the country!”

“I agree. Here, let me show you something.”, said Bahorel and came over to sit on the seat next to Enjolras, swooping Lamarque up on one arm while he drew a crumpled piece of paper out of his jeans, “I found this in a park yesterday. It is brilliant!”

He handed Enjolras a well known pamphlet and Enjolras ground his teeth, taking the paper with long fingers.

“You should read it. It's really good and should show people just how wrong they are if they're homophobic.”, told him Bahorel and patted Lamarque.

“I know. I wrote it.”, clipped Enjolras.

“No way?! How cool is that?!”, called Bahorel and beamed at him, “Christ, I always wanted to meet someone who thought like I do!”

“Well, hello again.”, smiled Enjolras who was taken aback by how cheerful Bahorel was. His eyes flipped up when the metro slowed, “Oh, this is my stop, I need to get out.”

“Are you busy?”, asked Bahorel eager and watched him intently.

“No, I'm just taking her for a walk through the Tuilleries. Nothing special.”, answered Enjolras a little confused.

“Would you mind if I joined you? I wanted to go to the gym but that will still be open later. Maybe we could chat a bit about your pamphlet?!”

“If you want to...”, said Enjolras cautiously and watched Bahorel nod wildly. So they got out at the next stop together, Lamarque jumping up at Bahorel when he asked Enjolras if he could have the leash. Enjolras grinned to himself when the bulky man cooed at the dog while they ascended into the warm air of the late morning.

“So, obviously you are against the act, are you?”, asked Bahorel while they entered the Tuilleries where a few people already had gathered to spend a nice summer day outside.

“Yes, I am.”, declared Enjolras and shoved his hands into his pockets, kicking a few pebbles while they made their way onto one of the walkways.

“Is it too much if I asked if you were... affected by the act?”, asked Bahorel carefully and didn't look at Enjolras. He acknowledged that he had to look up at Bahorel but smiled and shook his head.

“No, it wouldn't. And yes, I would be affected.”

“Really?”, asked Bahorel surprised and eyed Enjolras again, “You looked more like a woman's man.”

“Never judge a book by its cover, remember?”, winked Enjolras and Bahorel laughed, making Lamarque bark excited.

“You're right, sorry.”, apologized Bahorel and grinned, “Single?”

“Well... yes.”, answered Enjolras and Bahorel's grin spread wider.

“On the search?”

“No...”

“Too bad, may I say you are a really attractive guy?”

“Thanks... I guess... you too?!”, stuttered Enjolras, again a little overtaxed with the whole situation and got a laugh from Bahorel again.

“Didn't mean to fluster you, sorry.”, grinned Bahorel and motioned for a park bench a few feet to their left, “Want to sit down?”

“Why not?”, asked Enjolras and followed Bahorel to the bench.

They settled down comfortably and dived into a conversation about the new act. Enjolras recognized that he could discuss any topic with Bahorel for a good length without getting bored, like he easily got by strangers. Bahorel's opinion was mostly matching his, but sometimes he brought up some points that were critical and suggestive that made Enjolras think and he felt challenged, in a good way.

Nearly as challenged as with Grantaire back in their youth. Enjolras lost his train of thoughts and his eyes lost focus while Bahorel went on about the two-edged character of the act. Grantaire had always made him see the weak points in his arguments and had teased him until he had no mistakes what so ever left in his argumentation. He had sharpened his focus, had made him see clearer and had made him see different sides of topics. He had always made him a better, more compassionate person who could see the situation of others clearer even if he wasn't affected.

“Enjolras? Are you all right, buddy?”, asked Bahorel anxious after a moment and Enjolras snapped out of his thoughts.

“Yes, sorry, I am. I just got distracted.”, sighed Enjolras and chided himself for getting lost in thoughts about Grantaire again, although he had sworn to himself that he wouldn't do that any more.

“You looked miserable, man, are you sure you're OK?”, asked Bahorel and grabbed his shoulder in a very soothing way.

Enjolras smiled a little to himself and nodded: “Yes, thanks for the concern. I just had a bit of a rough time lately.”

“If you want to talk...”, suggested Bahorel and waived both hands to his own chest, “I'm here, OK?”

“Thanks.”, smiled Enjolras and could not believe how this cover hid so well how caring the man beneath it was. To distract the attention from himself, he asked: “So what do you do for a living, Bahorel?”

“I don't have a job.”, said Bahorel and started laughing, “At least that matches the package, doesn't it? The tattooed, pierced guy with dreadlocks has no job.”

Enjolras just scowled at him and Bahorel raised his hands, smiling: “Sorry... Back to topic, I'm a voluntary worker at a shelter for 'problematic youths', like the society calls them. I'm giving boxing and fencing lessons for those who do not have an outlet for their frustration. Sometimes they pay me, sometimes they can't and that's fine a well.”

“Very admirable.”, said Enjolras and watched Lamarque fall asleep.

“So what do you do for a living?”, asked Bahorel and held up a hand then, “Wait, let me guess... High fashion model for Men's Heath?!”

Enjolras put his head into his neck and laughed, shaking his head. Bahorel was smirking wide while Enjolras looked at him again and explained: “No, I'm not. I'm working in a law firm. One day I want to open up my own with one of my best friends, we just need to...”

“Enjolras!”

The cry made him look up and he squinted a bit against the sun to make out the person waving frantically at him. Courfeyrac held Combeferre's hand and waived while he trailed a whole string of people behind him.

“That's the friend in question, by the way.”, said Enjolras and waited until Courfeyrac and Combeferre were with them.

“You didn't tell us you had a date!”, griped Courfeyrac and winked at him.

“I haven't.”, huffed Enjolras when he saw who was with his friends, “We met in the metro.”

Grantaire was walking next to Feuilly, grinning over at Lamarque who barked delighted to see him again. Jehan was talking to Éponine and a blond girl who held hands with – Marius, Courfeyrac's ex-boyfriend.

Enjolras' head snapped around and he was on his feet in an instant, his hand curling around Courfeyrac's elbow. His friend smiled and shook his head with a smile and Enjolras understood. They were finally comfortable around each other, making it easier for Courfeyrac to be around the young copper haired teacher when social bonds demanded it.

“Ehm...”, made Enjolras and tugged Courfeyrac forward a little as if he wanted to show him to Bahorel, “This is Courfeyrac, the friend I told you about?”

“Ah, hey, nice to meet you.”, said Bahorel and offered a hand and Enjolras hurried to say: “This is Rémy Bahorel, Lamarque charmed him on the metro.”

“She's got a good taste in men.”, grinned Courfeyrac and winked at Bahorel while they shook hands.

“And this is my best friend Combeferre, he's a neurosurgeon.”, introduced Enjolras, skipping the flirty statement of Courfeyrac.

“Oh, like Doctor Shepard in Grey's Anatomy?”, asked Bahorel and Combeferre winced a little bit while he shook the extended hand.

“Ehm... yes, just that I'm an actual doctor.”, smiled Combeferre while Grantaire and Feuilly joined them.

“Do you feel better, Enjolras?”, asked Feuilly concerned and Enjolras mused that Combeferre had made something up why he didn't join them for brunch.

“Yes, thanks.”, said Enjolras and searched for more words but didn't need to find any because Bahorel pushed past him and grinned wide at Feuilly.

“Hey, my name is Rémy. Pleasure to meet you. Are you a friend of Enjolras' too?”, he asked and beamed at Feuilly.

“Yes, I am.”, said Feuilly and Enjolras watched amazed how a blush crept onto Feuilly's cheekbones in the blink of an eye, “Hi, nice to... ehm... hi. I'm Faurant Leuilly... I mean Laurant Feuilly, hi.”

“Hi.”, grinned Bahorel and held Feuilly's hand longer than necessary.

Courfeyrac tugged a little at Enjolras sleeve and made him back off from the two, Bahorel starting to chat light-hearted with the ginger who blushed more and more while his grin widened further and further, eyes blinking more and more.

“Are you already done with brunch?”, asked Enjolras while they stepped to Grantaire and the others, still talking.

“What do you mean, already? It's quarter past one!”, grinned Courfeyrac. Enjolras checked his watch. His friend was right. Time had gone by so fast while he had talked to Bahorel.

Grantaire had draped an arm around Jehan's shoulders and leaned onto him. He wore casual clothing again and Enjolras cursed every deity he could think of for Grantaire deciding to wear that bloody beanie. He was sure that it was the exact same beanie Enjolras had tugged from his head during kissing so often.

“Enjolras.”, smiled Marius a little sheepishly when the ginger's eyes fell on him.

“Marius, nice to see you again. How are you?”, asked Enjolras, remembering social etiquette, and shook Marius' hand.

“Not bad, thank you. How are you doing? Fey... Courfeyrac said you were ill this morning.”, said Marius gently and watched Enjolras sympathetic.

“Didn't the tequila agree with you?”, teased Jehan and giggled frantically while Grantaire tried to stifle a laugh in Jehan's shoulder, looking up afterwards and kissing Jehan's neck while pointedly staring at Enjolras.

Enjolras' stomach seemed to freeze over and he straightened up, raising his chin, doing his best to ignore them: “Well, I didn't feel good enough for a brunch so I staid home and nursed a little chamomile tea. Then I though a little fresh air wouldn't hurt.”

“My father always says fresh air and a walk cures nearly anything.”, smiled the blond girl, hooked herself under with Marius and extended her right hand to Enjolras, “You must be Enjolras, nice to meet you. The boys have been talking about you quite a lot.”

“Have they?”, asked Enjolras and wondered firstly who “the boys” were and secondly, what those boys had talked about him.

“Yes, you seem to be their star.”, she smiled and laughed, “But were are my manners? Hello, I'm Cosette, Éponine's foster-sibling and Marius fiancé.”

Marius blushed deep red and grinned like a madman while Enjolras shook Cosette's hand who was still smiling. She was a sweet girl with blue eyes and long, blond curls, her smile warming everyone who it was bestowed upon. But still, Marius knew her only a week, maybe a little more, so Enjolras had to gulp down every remark about that and forced himself to grin.

“Congratulations, then.”, said Enjolras a little stiffly and shot a quick look to Courfeyrac clutching Combeferre's hand, his smile just a tiny bit forced. The head-shake was nearly invisible but Enjolras caught it with ease. He was not happy with this either, not because Marius was getting married to someone else, but because it was so rushed.

“Thank you so much!”, smiled Cosette while Éponine's mobile started ringing and she excused herself.

“Jehan!”, she called a moment later and waived him to herself. Jehan complied and went to him, Grantaire suddenly standing alone with Marius and Enjolras while Cosette had turned to Courfeyrac to talk to him and Combeferre.

“So, Marius, any more plans for today?”, asked Grantaire and smiled at the shy ginger.

“No, not really.”, he sighed, “Cosette said she would like to spent as much time with Ponine as possible, so I think we're going back to the hotel with you.”

“Great, I still need to show you that book I told you about.”, smiled Grantaire.

“Ah, the one about Napoleon, the recent biography?”, asked Marius excited and smiled eager while Enjolras huffed an indignant blast of air.

“Problems?”, asked Grantaire coldly and Enjolras' head snapped up.

“No...”, he muttered, “... but Napoleon... come on!”

“Why does everything I support have to agree with your likings?”, asked Grantaire and cocked his head at Enjolras.

“I didn't say that. Napoleon is just...”, stuttered Enjolras, turning red under the scrutinizing eyes of Grantaire.

“Too French for you?”, asked Grantaire and a smile curled his lips, “I remember that you liked French a lot in the past.”

Enjolras' brain nearly exploded with images and memories of all the times Grantaire had given him a blow job and he knew that the heat that flared through him was clearly visible on his face while his mouth snapped open and shut desperate for an answer.

“Or is he just not your type?”, asked Grantaire and the smile he wore could only be titled as sly, “I can't remember... Do you like short, stocky guys, Enjolras?”

“You damn well know...”, piped Enjolras, his heart racing and his blood boiling, when Marius made an uncertain movement that caught his attention. Enjolras focused on Grantaire after casting a glance at the ginger. The smile was daring – something sad and hurt glinting for the briefest second in his green eyes – and Enjolras knew that he was being provoked. And that he had fallen for Grantaire's trap. So he just cleared his throat and looked to the ground.

“You'll like the biography.”, went Grantaire on after shooting Enjolras a last look, “It's got some of the newest insights in it and was written by one of the most acclaimed historians in Oxford University.”

He hooked himself under with Marius a moment later, turned his back on Enjolras and strolled away from their gathering, over to Jehan and Éponine who were done with the phone call at that moment. Enjolras watched him secretly and blushed hard when Grantaire turned his head and caught him staring – a bright smile flashing up before Enjolras could look away.

“Courf, Ferre, are you coming?”, called Jehan over and raised his eyebrows, a quick, warning glare bestowed on Grantaire a moment earlier.

“Feuilly, you can bring Bahorel, if you like.”, added Grantaire and smiled over his shoulder, the sun getting caught in his green eyes while Enjolras gulped. Everyone, but him. He understood immediately and took the leash from Bahorel.

“Enjolras...”, started Combeferre but Enjolras just patted his shoulder while heading into the opposite direction.

“Don't bother. See you later...”, sighed Enjolras.

“Have a nice day, Enjolras!”, called Grantaire and blew him a kiss which brought tears to Enjolras' eyes that he blinked away furious.

He missed how Combeferre's face got dark and he caught up to Grantaire to reprimand, he missed Jehan taking Grantaire's side and he missed Courfeyrac jumping in to solve the conflict before it escalated. He missed the longing glance that Grantaire shot into his direction before he made his way out of the gardens with Lamarque whining for Bahorel.

And with every scrunching step on the pebbles, Enjolras' stomach curled up in a tighter ball of pain. Grantaire had ignored him, yet again. He had shown him clearly that he didn't want him around. Yesterday he had crowded him against a wall, had grabbed his chin and today... These remarks were meant to push Enjolras and it had worked. That grin when Enjolras snapped at him...

Enjolras' thoughts raced in a vicious roundabout. This was not logical, this was behaviour he could not make any sense off of. Why invite him in the first place when he didn't want him around? If he had wanted to see Combeferre again, he could have just invited him with a plus one, he should not have invited Enjolras.

The way back through Paris flew past Enjolras while he staggered through the city, that city they had always dreamed about living in together. Now they were further apart than ever.

 

*

 

“We're back!”, called Combeferre and threw his key into the bowl with a clatter. The patting of paws drummed over the hard wood floor and Lamarque darted around the corner, panting happy to see them.

“Hello sweetheart!”, cooed Courfeyrac and swooped her up, nuzzling his face into her fur.

“Enjolras?”, called Combeferre and craned his neck while toeing off his shoes.

“Did Enjy-daddy go out, sweetheart, hm?”, cooed Courfeyrac into Lamarque's ear and Combeferre rolled his eyes.

“He'll rip your head off if he ever finds out that you call him that.”, reprimanded Combeferre fondly, kissed Courfeyrac on the cheek and went into the living room.

“Where the hell...”, he grumbled when he heard a low thump from the adjacent room.

Courfeyrac set Lamarque down and frowned while they both made their way towards Enjolras' room. The door was only leaned against the frame and music – the Ramones CD in his CD-player that he hadn't listened to since moving to Paris eight years ago – was drowning out the noises of the street while both windows were wide open.

Combeferre pushed the door open a little more and raised his eyebrows surprised.

“Enjolras, what the hell?”, he stuttered and went into the room, gazing at the mess Enjolras had created.

“Oh hey!”, beamed Enjolras, sitting in the middle of a truck load of cartons filled with photos, magazines and books, papers, polaroids and photos spread out around him on the floor.

“Have you been rummaging in my stuff?”, asked Combeferre horrified because there were some really personal – sexy – things in the boxes under his bed – now standing around Enjolras – that the blond man should definitely not see.

“Only the cartons from lycée. Look.”, he said light-heartedly and handed Combeferre a photo, “That was at the first boxing match Grantaire won after we got together. I don't remember you taking that picture.”

Combeferre took the photo from Enjolras and turned with wide eyes to Courfeyrac who was staring blankly at the wall over Enjolras' bed – completely plastered with polaroids, photos and newspaper scraps featuring Grantaire. Combeferre turned to Enjolras who stuck – head first – in a vast carton filled with yearbooks, rummaging noisily through it.

“Enjolras...”

“Listen”, started Enjolras, surfacing and browsing through the yearbook in his hands, “I was thinking that you two could sleep in here tonight so that I can use the scanner in your room to get the photos out of the yearbooks without destroying them...”

“Enjolras...”, said Combeferre a little more urgent, seeing as Courfeyrac's eyebrows narrowed in worries.

“It would be a pity to just cut them out. I'm nearly done with those cartons, I've sorted out all the photos of Grantaire and put them on the wall. I just need to search our compartment in the cellar for the folder with all the sketches and small painting you kept. Don't think I didn't see them when we moved here. I could frame a few...”

“Enjolras, listen...”

“Do you think he would mind if I hang them into the living room? Do _you_ mind if I put them into the living room? Not all of them, just a few. I remember a watercolour he did of your cabin by the seaside, Ferre, that you liked so much. It would be nice in the living room, don't you think? They are good already, not as good as his paintings now, but we would have...”

“ENJOLRAS!”

Enjolras looked up from sorting through the yearbooks and stared wide eyed at Combeferre who regretted raising his voice at him. He normally was not so easily irritated but seeing Enjolras like this was nearly enough for him. He felt how Courfeyrac brushed past him and knelt down next to Enjolras to carefully take the yearbook from him.

“Enjolras, what are you doing?”, asked Courfeyrac softly and placed an arm around Enjolras shoulders and Combeferre took a deep breath to settle down.

“I wanted to sort out...”, started Enjolras but Combeferre interrupted him softly: “We see that. But Enjolras... why?”

Enjolras' head dropped to his chest and Combeferre saw him curl his hands into fists, knuckles turning white in the process. His shoulders were twitching slightly while Courfeyrac shot him a concerned look. Combeferre tried to place comfort in his eyes to sooth the worries of his boyfriend and seemed to succeed.

He had seen Enjolras like this once before, he knew what was going on. Courfeyrac didn't. That was why Combeferre sat down in front of Enjolras as well, legs crossed, hands carefully folded.

“Why?”, he almost whispered and watched Enjolras close his eyes.

“He ignored me...”, whispered the blond helpless and the pain in Combeferre's heart about his weak voice was mirrored clearly on Courfeyrac's face.

So this was the core of this obsessive behaviour. He had already suspected that Enjolras would not be able to handle Grantaire's indifference towards him, that it was gnawing at Enjolras more than anything else since they moved to Paris. And with Grantaire teasing him yesterday and today, he had flicked a switch in Enjolras that Combeferre knew would sent his friend in a swirl of obsessive behaviour to help deny what he felt. He had known that because he knew how much Grantaire still meant to Enjolras, although his best friend failed in admitting that to himself.

“Enjolras”, he sighed and intended to try to sooth his friend, but Enjolras just brushed Courfeyrac's arm from his shoulders and leaned forward, fists pressed onto his thighs while he glared intently at Combeferre.

“No, you don't understand, Ferre, he _ignored_ me!”, hissed Enjolras urgent, “He invited me to his bloody vernissage and then _ignored_ me. Why? Why invite me when he doesn't want to look at me? What... what...”

“Enjolras...”, sighed Combeferre and reached out, intending to take Enjolras' hand but failed as Enjolras drew his hands away and pressed them to his chest, nearly curling up in himself. Courfeyrac watched him so concerned that Combeferre was not sure who needed him more in the moment, Enjolras or his boyfriend. He settled for Enjolras because Courfeyrac would be fine as soon as Enjolras was fine again.

“Look, I can not answer you these questions but...”, said Combeferre quietly and searched Enjolras' features, “He surely had his reasons. Maybe he pictured the evening to go down differently, maybe he had a plan and couldn't act on it. Maybe he just thought it would work out just by seeing you again. Maybe he misjudged the situation and... Really, I understand that you are upset...”

“Upset?”, snapped Enjolras and glared at Combeferre, “You think I am _upset_?”

There was this hard edge to Enjolras' words, the edge that Combeferre knew all too well. Enjolras was so insecure and a little afraid about what he felt that he wouldn't allow anyone to name the state he was in, not even Combeferre. Because admitting that he had weaknesses was not possible in Enjolras' world, because he wouldn't allow himself to show any weaknesses.

Courfeyrac tuned himself in softly and said in a low, soothing voice: “What else are you than upset? You practically poured out five years worth of pictures on your bedroom floor just because you can't handle the rejection of your ex-boyfriend.”

Combeferre winced a little, unsure how good an idea it was to speak so directly about Enjolras' little obsessive problem just now. Enjolras turned his eyes to Courfeyrac and Combeferre watched amazed how his best friend's face went through many emotions all at once: anger, surprise, horror, shame and sadness.

“He was... Grantaire was... Courf, it... it...”, stuttered Enjolras and Courfeyrac wrapped him up in an embrace, rocking him gently while Enjolras nipped a dry sob in the bud. Combeferre's heart cringed with the look of Courfeyrac holding Enjolras and with the sound of Enjolras' voice. He knew that Enjolras wanted to tell them how much he was hurting, how desperate he was. But he couldn't, and Courfeyrac and Combeferre knew that Enjolras would never talk openly about his feelings and they knew that this was all they would get. And they knew that they had to be there for Enjolras now.

“He's been so cruel...”, sighed Enjolras and Combeferre watched him close his eyes while still snuggled against Courfeyrac's shoulder.

And while Combeferre's first impulse was to comfort Enjolras, Courfeyrac's first impulse following these words was a completely different one. He took a deep breath, kissed Enjolras' hair and pushed him off himself by the shoulders, holding him by them still while he said calmly: “Enjolras, look at me.”

Enjolras lifted his eyes to Courfeyrac's and Combeferre saw how glassy they were and knew how close Enjolras was to an actual breakdown. He reached out and rubbed Enjolras' back soothingly while his boyfriend cleared his throat quietly and asked: “Don't you think it's a little unfair to blame R for being cruel after what _you_ did to him?”

Combeferre froze. He was not sure if this was the right way – actually, he was 100% positive that it wasn't – to approach Enjolras right now, with his emotions boiling so close to the surface. For a moment, Enjolras looked at Courfeyrac as if he wanted to disembowel him right there and then with his bare hands, but then the sour facade broke and Combeferre was shocked how vulnerable and young Enjolras suddenly looked.

“But I...”, he stuttered and his blue eyes were swimming in tears. Combeferre had not seen Enjolras cry since the evening he had gotten drunk and decided to break up with Grantaire for Grantaire's benefit. Seeing him crumble now after eight years that Grantaire had hardly been a topic in their life cut so deep in Combeferre's heart that he wanted to punch Courfeyrac for bringing Enjolras so close to tears – but not really.

“Hey...”, he murmured and Enjolras turned to him as if he was his only friend in the world, glad that Combeferre had decided to speak to him again. Combeferre tried a shaky smile at him and cocked his head a little, before he said in a low voice: “Enjolras, I agree with you that it was not the best way to treat you with utter indifference after seeing you again eight years after your break-up. But you have to consider that not only you, but Grantaire also, are totally overtaxed with the situation. And you know that Grantaire had always had the tendencies to ignore unpleasant things... or mock them, for that matter.”

“Then why did he invite me in the first place?”, asked Enjolras weakly, his eyes looking for an answer in Combeferre's eyes. Combeferre sighed deeply and reached out, grabbing Enjolras softy by one shoulder, his thumb rubbing soothing circles into the skin under the shirt.

“I think there is really just one person who can answer you this question, you know that, right?”, he asked Enjolras softly.

Enjolras' head dropped to his chest again and he nodded solemnly. A deja-vu suddenly haunted Combeferre, but something was not like last time.

Last time he had knelt on the floor of a small, stuffed full, dimly lit room, a trembling boy with long, dark curls obscuring his face while he stared at him, seeking for answers in his face. It had been after their first bigger fight, after Combeferre had talked two hours to a fuming Enjolras and had hurried to Grantaire's parent's house afterwards, worrying how the sensible artist was doing.

Combeferre shivered as he became aware how much the roles of this couple – well, ex-couple, one should say – had changed. Grantaire seemed to have grown into the self-confident, charismatic man and Enjolras was striving for his attention with every deed he did. Combeferre narrowed his eyebrows about that acknowledgement and sighed deeply. This was way too complicated and if Enjolras didn't happen to be his best friend, he would not risk the headache he felt building up in the back of his head about it all.

“This is all such a muddle, you see that, don't you?”, asked Combeferre softly while Enjolras still stared onto his knees. The small nod he gave was enough for Combeferre to go on softly: “I don't want to lecture you, Enjolras, but you know that this is all the fault of this letter you wrote long ago, don't you?”

Another small nod, even harder to make out than the first one.

“And you know that it... that you should probably finally talk to Grantaire?”, he asked softly, trying to bring Enjolras back on course, back to what was best for him – and Grantaire.

“But...”, whispered Enjolras and looked up, “What shall I tell him? I can not just tell him why I wrote that letter back then, he would not...”

“Understand?”, ended Combeferre Enjolras' sentence when his best friend's voice broke, “I think he deserves the chance to understand. And when you've cleared out that obstacle, he will surely tell you why he wanted to see you again only to ignore you then.”

Satisfied, Combeferre watched how the life and the determination he knew from Enjolras returned to his blue eyes and he nodded carefully. He squeezed Enjolras' shoulder a little and let go, because he knew that the worst was over now.

“You are right.”, said Enjolras quietly, “I have been a fool. I should have talked to him much earlier. Thank you, Combeferre.”

Enjolras struggled up and smoothed out his shirt while he stared out the windows, deep in thoughts. Combeferre struggled up as well – one of his legs asleep from folding his legs – and offered a hand to Courfeyrac. His boyfriend was looking at him with an expression that was a mixture of pride, love and gratitude. Combeferre smiled while Courfeyrac wrapped his arms around his waist and tugged his head under Combeferre's chin.

“Combeferre?”, asked Enjolras and turned to them and there was insecurity in his eyes again.

“Yes?”, asked Combeferre and intended to let go off Courfeyrac in favour of Enjolras but stopped himself before he could. He didn't want to give Courfeyrac the impression that Enjolras was more important than him, so he simply held his boyfriend while looking at his best friend.

“Why did I break up with him?”, asked Enjolras and the question might have sounded odd to the ears of others – maybe even to Courfeyrac's – but Combeferre knew why Enjolras uttered it. Enjolras had never needed agreement or approval of what he did when he had been younger but in recent years he had grown a little dependent on Combeferre's judgement and wanted to have all his decisions confirmed or denied by his best friend.

And this was not only a simply question. There were so many layers behind that question and Combeferre was able to see a few of them: firstly, Enjolras wanted to make sure that Combeferre was still standing to him. He had told Enjolras back then that he wouldn't agree with him on the letter, but that he would be there for Enjolras if he went through with it. And with this question Enjolras wanted to make sure that this promise was still in tact.

Secondly, Enjolras inquired if Combeferre remembered their conversation after Enjolras had finished his letter. The conversation where he had hoped that Combeferre would change his mind, but couldn't because he had already made it up too strongly. He wanted to hear Combeferre confirm that he remembered Enjolras' darkest hour and still stood to him, although his past had caught up with him and although he had promised Combeferre that he would never again be so close to breaking.

And thirdly, he was hoping that Combeferre remembered all the reasons he had told him and would find the words to sum them up for Enjolras again to make sure that he was still on the right course. He wanted Combeferre to guide him, to agree with him and to make him do the right thing.

Combeferre felt a small smile on his lips as he remembered a younger Enjolras telling him everything that made him break up with Grantaire: he had known that Grantaire would have followed Enjolras everywhere, even to Paris. And Paris had been too expensive for Grantaire or his family and Enjolras had not wanted him to go through a financial struggle for him. Going with him to Paris had also meant quitting on his plans to study for an arts degree.

Enjolras had made Grantaire apply at different art academies all over the country and also in other countries. And while the schools in Paris had sent the samples of his work back without a remark about why he hadn't made it into the next round, highly acclaimed schools didn't sent back anything but offered him scholarships. Amongst them were the Académie de peinture et sculpture in Rome, a French institute for promising artists, the Royal Academy of Arts in London and the Academy of Art in Barcelona.

Enjolras had told Combeferre that night that he knew that Grantaire would cast those offers to the wind just to be with Enjolras. And Enjolras could not allow that because he loved Grantaire far too much to see him waste his talent, see him cancelling on his dreams just to follow Enjolras. In their youthful ignorance, they had thought that Grantaire would go to these academies if Enjolras broke up with him, because then he would have no other choice than to do so. Now Combeferre knew that this logic had been stupidity and knew from Jehan that Grantaire had never attended any of those art schools but had studied for an arts degree at the Université Jean Monnet in Saint-Étienne, near Lyon – and had dropped out of University when Jehan finished with a degree in literature.

Combeferre straightened up and offered the smallest of smiles to Enjolras who had been watching him anxious. He saw the dark thoughts fall from Enjolras' face a little before Combeferre said softly: “Because you love him too much...”

It was a cryptic sentence and because of the twitch of Courfeyrac's shoulders he knew that his boyfriend didn't understand why he had said that. But on Enjolras' face Combeferre saw only relieve and gratitude while he started to smile sadly. Enjolras and Combeferre nodded at each other, there were no more words needed. Then Enjolras turned and opened the door to vanish into the hallway and out of their sight.

“Enj!”, squawked Courfeyrac and wanted to let go off Combeferre, but he just held him back fondly, “Let me go, Ferre, we can not just let him go like that, he's...”

“He's fine, Courf, trust me.”, said Combeferre fondly and watched Courfeyrac turn in his arms, still struggling against his embrace.

“Are you mad? He was close to a breakdown, we need to get him back...”

“Stop struggling, Courf.”

“Then let go off me. We can't just let him go like that.”

“Stop it, Darling.”

“Let go off me!”

“No.”

Combeferre was grinning down at Courfeyrac who was flushed with anger by now and whose curls stood up in all directions from struggling to flee from Combeferre's arms. His eyes glinted fiercely while he glared in a huff up at Combeferre.

“You are the worst!”, declared Courfeyrac but calmed down.

They knew each other well enough through all their years together now that Courfeyrac understood without an explanation that Combeferre would have never let Enjolras leave if he was still worried about him having a nervous breakdown. The only thing that bothered Courfeyrac now was that Combeferre was manhandling him a little, treating him like a disobedient child. But the smile that stole itself on Courfeyrac's features showed Combeferre that most of it was just a little show for him.

“And you love me.”, added Combeferre and leaned down to kiss Courfeyrac who relished for a short moment in the kiss before pushing himself away from Combeferre, pressing his palms against Combeferre's chest.

“But that doesn't excuse...”, he started chiding him in a pretended way before Combeferre sealed their lips together again, a little more forcefully and with a little brush of tongue this time. Courfeyrac sighed softly before yanking his head away.

“Don't think a little kissing will...”, started Courfeyrac bickering again, a playful smirk on his features and Combeferre smiled as well when he grabbed Courfeyrac's hair and pressed their lips together again, tilting his head to slip his tongue through Courfeyrac's already parted, waiting lips. The slow swirls against his tongue with which Courfeyrac answered his kiss made him wobbly in the knees and grin like an idiot.

“You are a manipulative...”, breathed Courfeyrac weakly when they broke apart for air. Combeferre waisted no time and dived in to kiss him again – almost lazily – until Courfeyrac was fisting hands full of Combeferre's polo shirt. When Combeferre retrieved, Courfeyrac was looking at him through half closed eyes, pupils blown wide and lips a little swollen and red from kissing. He was batting his long-lashed eyelids at Combeferre and purred: “Bedroom, now!”

 

*

 

Enjolras' heart sped like mad while he rushed through the lobby of the hotel Grantaire stayed in. He worried that if he slowed down, he would just turn around and not seek out Grantaire. It had cost all his courage to ask the concierge for the suite Grantaire was staying in and so he didn't wait for the elevator but took the stairs.

Although he didn't mind stairs – he was living on the third floor himself – he was panting hard once he reached the sixth floor of the hotel and pushed open the door to the rooms. His eyes found the pattern in the numbers on the doors and his feet carried him almost automatically towards the right door. His fist was pounding against the wood louder than he had meant it to be but there was nothing to be changed about it anymore and so he took a deep breath and closed his eyes, straightening his spine all the way and shaking his hair out of his face.

“Enjolras...”, said Jehan surprised when he opened the door to the insisting pound a few moments later.

“I need to speak to Grantaire.”, said Enjolras and was relieved how steady and controlled his voice sounded. He had calmed down after the conversation with Courfeyrac and Combeferre – and he still needed to express his gratitude to them properly, maybe hug both of them five minutes solid each – and felt much more comfortable and less confused now.

Jehan raised both eyebrows and just stepped aside, seeing something in Enjolras' eyes that brooked no argument. Enjolras stepped into the vast suite, finding a sideboard next to the door littered with empty beer and cognac bottles, thawing ice cubes in a bowl and a few ashtrays, filled with the stumps of what had been cigarillos. Opposite the door, half facing away from it, into the corner with the vast windows, stood the sofa and two armchairs.

Feuilly and Bahorel had settled down – together – in one of the armchairs, looking much too close for the fact that they had only met about four hours ago. Grantaire was sprawled out on the sofa, his shirt ridden up over his hipbones, a trail of dark hair disappearing under the waistband of his jeans. It required all of Enjolras' willpower not to stare at that trail. Grantaire lifted his head from Éponine's lap when Enjolras entered and blinked surprised. Éponine just raised an unamused eyebrow and drew the corners of her mouth down.

“I need to talk to you!”, said Enjolras, ignoring all the others in the room, hoping they would have the decency to leave them alone.

“You need to make an appointment with my assistant in order to talk to me, you know.”, sighed Grantaire with a sly grin and stretched lazily and Enjolras cursed him because that made even more skin slip out under the green shirt and Enjolras was sure he was doing that on purpose.

Brusquely Enjolras turned to Éponine who kept watching him. If Grantaire wanted to play, fine, Enjolras could play this game as well. He straightened, locked eyes with Éponine and demanded: “Blog Grantaire's agenda for the next hour or so, I need to talk to him.”

“My office hours are from ten to four Mondays to Thursdays, please call tomorrow to make an appointment.”, clipped Éponine while scanning her fingernails thoroughly.

That was enough for Enjolras. He was not going to play the fool for them after gathering up all his bravery to come here. He exploded, his voice echoing off the walls of the suite while he yelled, his face turning redder with every word: “Everyone just get the fuck out of here! _Now_!”

Bahorel made an uncertain movement, only held back by Feuilly when Enjolras had ended. Jehan had paled and covered his mouth with one hand. Éponine was about to leap at Enjolras' throat when Grantaire rolled onto his side and propped himself up on one elbow.

“Jehan.”, he said calmly and turned to his partner, “Could you please take Éponine and these two love-birds and wait for me in Éponine's room?”

“Are you sure?”, asked Jehan uncertain, eyeing Grantaire and Enjolras in turns.

Grantaire looked over to Enjolras who stood in the room, red faced, panting, his blond hair a mess around his furious face, his hands clenched to white-knuckled fists at his sides, the sunset illuminating him in a glorious way. His fingers itched for a brush and a blank canvas while he was studying Enjolras. It took him just a moment to nod and turn back to Jehan: “Yes, I am sure. I'll come and get you when we're done here.”

“If you need anything...”, said Éponine quietly and brushed her hand down Grantaire's back while he just waived her off with a fond smile.

Enjolras watched them, all so concerned for Grantaire, as if Enjolras was posing a threat to him only by being here. They all got up and walked towards where Jehan had the door still open. Feuilly paused next to Enjolras and looked concerned at him.

“Are you OK, Enj?”, he whispered, waiving Bahorel off who had turned around to come back to him.

“I will be.”, said Enjolras in a little hoarse voice and tried to look reassuring at his friend who only narrowed his eyebrows, squeezed Enjolras' upper arm for a moment and joined Bahorel finally to leave the room.

The door closed and finally it were only Enjolras and Grantaire, facing each other. Grantaire still sat on the sofa, his hands folded between his knees while his elbows rested on his knees. He kept scrutinizing Enjolras with cool eyes and an indifferent face. Enjolras felt bile rise in his throat and willed his shoulders to relax.

“Well...”, stated Grantaire after a moment of silence and leaned back again, crossing his muscular legs slowly, “What do you want?”

“I could ask you the same!”, snapped Enjolras and started pacing because if he had to face Grantaire a little longer without moving, he would have exploded – or leaped at him.

“What?”, laughed Grantaire and his eyes sparkled amused, “You came to me, demanding to...”

“Why did you invite me to your vernissage?”, blurted Enjolras, finally stilling again, glaring intently at Grantaire. His smile slipped from his face and Enjolras saw how he gulped. He kept looking at Enjolras for a short moment, then he averted his eyes, got up and strolled slowly to the sideboard full of bottles. He picked up a bottle of cognac and filled a glass for himself.

“Cognac?”, he asked over his shoulder and Enjolras heard how his voice had gone a little raspy.

“Don't change the topic.”, snarled Enjolras and made two steps towards him while Grantaire downed the whole glass he had poured for himself.

“Why should I?”, asked Grantaire harsh and stared at Enjolras in return, “I'm not ashamed to admit that I wanted to see you.”

“But why?”, asked Enjolras, hating how desperate he sounded as he made another step towards Grantaire, “Why did you want to see me only to _ignore_ me when I was around you?”

“Because I missed you.”, said Grantaire and grabbed the bottle cognac, not able to look at Enjolras who froze in the middle of the room. His heart was pounding and his head was swimming while his stomach was dropping through the floor in free fall towards the core of the earth.

Grantaire had missed him. Grantaire had wanted to see him again because he had missed him. After eight years Grantaire had still feelings for him, even if it was just longing. Enjolras' hands went cold while he seemed incapable of forming a coherent sentence.

Grantaire took a sip from the bottle, a drop running down his chin after putting it down again. He shook his head to himself and turned to Enjolras again, not really looking at him while he repeated: “Because I missed you and because I thought I had reached the point were I was over you and could be around you again without...”

His voice broke and he took another huge gulp of cognac, Enjolras watching his Adam's apple bob hastily with every sip. Enjolras was biting his lip while Grantaire drank because there was something more that Grantaire could not just say. There had been a pang of pain in his heart when Grantaire had said that he thought he was over Enjolras, but then there had been this cut. There hadn't been an uttered _but_ , but it still hung in the air and this little contradiction was everything Enjolras clung to.

Grantaire turned to him slowly and put the bottle down on the edge of the sideboard. Finally he raised his eyes to Enjolras' and looked at him as if he had never seen something so beautiful in a long time. Enjolras stumbled a step forward, Grantaire clenching his teeth when he saw the immediate reaction of just a look at Enjolras.

“Without what?”, asked Enjolras and he heard that his voice trembled, heard the desperate, hopeful undertone swing in his voice and from the way Grantaire narrowed his eyebrows tormented, he knew that Grantaire had heard it as well. A careful step brought Grantaire closer to Enjolras, still a distance of about four steps between them.

Grantaire licked his lips and scanned Enjolras' face so thoroughly as if he wanted to burn a mental image of him into his mind. He was breathing faster and Enjolras was sure that Grantaire heard his heart drumming against his ribcage.

“Without wanting to chain you to me so that I _never_ would have to loose you again.”, rasped Grantaire, his voice so much deeper than when they had last uttered words related to their relationship.

Enjolras started forward without knowing what he was doing. His hands wrapped around Grantaire's jaw and he pressed their lips together in a harsh way. Grantaire jerked back a little, only to gasp surprised about Enjolras' ambush. Enjolras didn't care because he felt Grantaire's hands on his hips, he felt Grantaire's lips tremble under his while he tilted his head to open his lips.

Grantaire nearly whined and fisted his hands into Enjolras' shirt, kissing him back furiously. Something had changed between them, Enjolras knew it in an instant when Grantaire started backing him through the room against a wall, his hands nearly tearing the shirt Enjolras wore to pieces.

Enjolras gasped when his back hit the wall next to the vast glass facade of the suite. Grantaire tugged the shirt over Enjolras' head without further ado and flung it behind himself. He pushed one knee between Enjolras' thighs and wound one hand into Enjolras' hair, grabbing hard and holding him in place. Enjolras couldn't stifle the moan that rose in his throat when Grantaire did that.

“Let it grow out for me, Enjolras?”, asked Grantaire in a hoarse whisper, mouthing along Enjolras' jaw while his hand in Enjolras' hair tightened – in a painful yet wonderful way. His other hand trailed down over Enjolras' chest, pinching a nipple on the go until it lay casually on his hip.

Enjolras nodded because yes, he had grown it out because Grantaire had always lamented that he would love Enjolras to have long hair and now he could admit it because yes, that had been the only motivation that Enjolras had needed, although it came much too late. His hands tightened in the fabric of Grantaire's shirt.

“I like it.”, murmured Grantaire and started sucking a mark into Enjolras' neck that would be visible for days but made Enjorlas squirm, his mouth opened in an ecstatic o while he kept dragging at Grantaire's shirt, “I could rake my fingers through it the whole day. Would you like that?”

“Yes... _ah_... yes, I would.”, tried Enjolras to answer in coherent sentences but failed as Grantaire's stubble graced over the skin of his throat. Grantaire repeated the movement and seemed delighted in the way it made Enjolras' breath catch.

“God, I though about this...”, murmured Grantaire while he started moving his thigh between Enjolras' legs, rubbing his crotch with soft movement. And it was not enough, Enjolras started moving his hips as well. Grantaire's hand on his hip stilled him while he crowded even more against Enjolras, still moving way too _slow_.

“I thought about this the moment I saw you in those ridiculously tight black jeans and the red shirt.”, whispered Grantaire and nipped at the flesh of Enjolras' shoulder. His hand left Enjolras' hair and trailed down his side, fingertips tickling while Enjolras yearned for more.

“Gran... _ah_... Grantaire.”, pleaded Enjolras and his hands seized dragging at the shirt because – obviously – it wasn't coming off. He grabbed two fist full of the short dark curls and tried to guide Grantaire up to kiss him again, but Grantaire didn't seem to think so. He grabbed one of Enjolras' wrists and pinned it against the wall next to his head, glaring at Enjolras all of a sudden.

“You were so beautiful... You _are_ so beautiful.”, he whispered and licked a line over Enjolras' lower lip, Enjolras chasing his mouth when he moved away. The hand on Enjolras' hip moved away and finally there was enough space for him to grind against Grantaire's thigh.

“I couldn't stop thinking about it the whole evening...”, whispered Grantaire into Enjolras' ear and suddenly, the hand that had been resting on Enjolras' hip was at his fly. Enjolras' breath caught in his throat while Grantaire undid the fly single-handed and without great showmanship.

“I couldn't stop thinking about it the whole Saturday.”, added Grantaire, his breathing becoming faster while he straightened up to kiss Enjolras. Enjolras – helpful and eager as he was – lowered his head to trap Grantaire's lips while the slow swirl of Grantaire's tongue – tasting of spearmint and cognac – made his knees buckle.

“I couldn't stop thinking about it when I danced with Jehan...”, moaned Grantaire against Enjolras' ear, his one hand letting go of Enjolras' wrist in favour of fisting in his hair again while the other carefully and slowly pushed into Enjolras' trousers.

“Fuck... _ah, fuck_... Grantaire...”, moaned Enjolras brokenly and could just stop himself in time to not thrust forward against Grantaire's hot hand, palming him through his boxer briefs.

“And you were watching us, all the time.”, breathed Grantaire, running his stubble over Enjolras' neck time after time, coaxing muffled moans out of Enjolras with every movement of his neck. His fingers slowly trailed around the outline of Enjolras' hard cock while he still moved his thigh against Enjolras' crotch.

“Yes... god, _yes_... Grantaire, please!”, begged Enjolras, not sure what he wanted but nearly driven mad by the things Grantaire did.

“What did you think, Enjolras?”, purred Grantaire, his teeth gracing the skin of Enjolras' throat in between words, “What did you think while you were watching us?”

Enjolras knew that he was meant to speak, he knew that he should answer, but he couldn't. All he could think of was that there was too much fabric between his body and Grantaire's, that there was not enough friction and that he couldn't push forward to gain more friction because he was being pinned to the wall and that this was Grantaire crowding him into the wall. It was really Grantaire, the boy he had met at school and for whom he had yearned nearly eight years after making the biggest mistake of his life. This was like in his wildest dreams and Enjolras could not comprehend just how lucky he was.

“What did you think, Sebastien?”, repeated Grantaire and only the mention of his first name made Enjolras moan before he choked out: “I... _ah_... I wanted to be _him_.”

Grantaire moaned brokenly at his neck and retreated. Enjolras whimpered and nearly collapsed forward. His eyes snapped open and he feared Grantaire would go, would send him away, would make him leave, but he saw that Grantaire had just tugged his shirt over his shoulders and flung it onto the sofa.

Enjolras' breath caught in his throat and he gaped. Under the shirt, tattooed half-sleeves had been hidden. Lush green vines wound around his upper arms and onto his chest, thick green vine leaves scattered over his skin while shimmering, ripe grapes in the darkest purple shades loomed between leaves and tendrils. Words were strewn over his upper arms and chest, words that Enjolras longed to read and touch – kiss.

Grantaire was smiling while he closed the distance to Enjolras again, taking his face between his hands and kissed him so tenderly. Enjolras sighed into the kiss and responded by pressing himself against Grantaire. Slowly Grantaire started walking again and Enjolras followed obediently, his hands travelling over Grantaire's back and shoulders, relishing the touch of skin on skin that he had yearned for just a moment ago.

Grantaire pushed Enjolras down on the bed, Enjolras bobbing up and down on the too soft mattress a few times which was definitely not sexy. Grantaire was still smiling, undoing his belt and his fly before shucking off his jeans unceremoniously.

“Do you want to keep those on?”, asked Grantaire with a teasing twinkle in his eyes and motioned with his chin to Enjolras' jeans. Enjolras didn't think but shrugged his jeans off as well, sitting up on the bed and reaching for Grantaire, his heart still pounding while he could nearly not bear not having Grantaire near him.

Grantaire obliged the silent beg and crawled onto the bed, slowly making his way up Enjolras' body, leaving kisses and soft nibbles along the way that had Enjolras squirming by the time Grantaire sealed their lips together.

The kiss was intoxicating and heated up their interactions once again. By the time Grantaire broke away, Enjolras was panting and staring up at him through blown wide pupils, his lips swollen and tingling. While Grantaire was grazing his lips and teeth over Enjolras' collarbones, Enjolras bucked his hips up to grind against Grantaire's thigh.

Grantaire chuckled and bit down carefully. Enjolras' back arched off the mattress and his hands grabbed Grantaire's hair while he moaned.

“Can I... suck you off?”, asked Grantaire and in the smile he bestowed on Enjolras, he saw again the shy young boy with the grey beanie who had been kneeling on the sofa of his parents' house in front of Enjolras, face flushed and lips swollen from kissing for hours, asking that question for the first time.

“God, yes!”, groaned Enjolras and closed his eyes while Grantaire ducked his head again, trailing a path of burning, open mouthed kisses down Enjolras' chest and abdomen, bestowing an open mouthed kiss to each of his abs before nipping on the soft skin just above the waistband of Enjolras' boxer briefs.

Enjolras' fisted one hand into Grantaire's hair and willed himself to not yank his head in place while Grantaire carefully lay down between his spread thighs, his breath tickling the tender skin of Enjolras' inner thighs. Grantaire turned his head and rubbed his stubble carefully over Enjolras' skin, chuckling about the way Enjolras mewled desperate. His fingers wrapped around the waistband of Enjolras' boxers and slowly, too slowly, pulled them down.

“Please... oh gosh, _please_...”, whimpered Enjolras, his hand grabbing the sheets tighter than necessary.

“Patience, Enjolras.”, breathed Grantaire and heaped kisses onto the skin of Enjolras' thighs and hips, carefully to avoid the area where Enjolras wanted to have his mouth, “I've waited too long for this to rush it now.”

“Fuck, just... _ah_... please, Grantaire, please, I need... ungh...”, made Enjolras and his head fell back onto the mattress when Grantaire's fingers slowly closed around the base of his cock. He couldn't think anymore, his brain was broken, Grantaire had broken it, he was sure about that. The only thing he could do was focus on the feeling of Grantaire's fingers on him while Grantaire's lips still trailed over the skin of his inner thigh.

“You are so beautiful. Gee, if you could see yourself.”, Grantaire praised quietly and Enjolras opened his eyes, turning his head to see him lying between his shaking thighs, two fingers curled around the base of his cock, licking his lips lazily. Enjolras whimpered.

A smug smile tugged at Grantaire's lips, then he licked them once more and opened his mouth. Enjolras had to close his eyes because the sight of Grantaire swallowing him would have been enough to make him come undone just now. He sucked in a deep breath when he felt Grantaire's tongue swirl around the head of his cock.

“Aaaaaaaah _shit_... Grantaire!”, half-sobbed Enjolras while the head of his cock slowly slipped inside the wet heat of Grantaire's mouth. The slow swirling tongue, the lazy licking, the shallow bobbing of Grantaire's head drove Enjolras crazy. He arched his back off the bed while Grantaire let go and licked a long trail up the shaft, his fingers still at the base. Another lazy lick over the tip, then...

“Gran _taire_!”, yelped Enjolras and rose from the covers, unable to breath while his cock hit the back of Grantaire's throat. His eyes flew open and he looked – had to look. Grantaire's pink lips were stretched around his cock, his head bobbing up and down in a relentless rhythm while his cock hit the back of Grantaire's throat with every other bobbing.

Grantaire opened his eyes, a sheen of sweat on his brow while he looked up at Enjolras. They looked eyes for a moment and Enjolras started trembling, panting strained against the tightness that curled in his lower stomach.

“Gran... _ah_... Gran... _Henri_...”, whimpered Enjolras when Grantaire closed his eyes again and bobbed his head a little faster. He knew he was close, so close, his hands fisted into the sheets, his lungs were strained while his heart pumped like mad, his head starting to swim. Grantaire's relentless pace drove him closer and closer to the edge.

“Please... please...”, panted Enjolras and arched off the bed. The finger that pressed against Enjolras' entrance while Grantaire still bobbed his head was enough to undo him. With a throttled cry Enjolras felt himself pulse into Grantaire's mouth and felt Grantaire swallow around him, stroking Enjolras' cock through his relieve.

Enjolras drifted between absolute bliss and an exhausted tiredness while he felt Grantaire slowly pulling back. He only got dimly aware that Grantaire leaned over and opened the night-stand to get out some wipes and cleaned them both up. Enjolras was busy with breathing and recovering his senses after Grantaire had taken him apart. He could not move one muscle while an idiotic smile stole itself on his features.

Grantaire crawled up next to him and slumped onto the mattress while Enjolras was still busy breathing. He turned his head and opened his eyes slowly, finding Grantaire smile fondly at him, raising a hand to brush some sticky blond strands out of Enjolras' face.

“I...”, sighed Enjolras, biting back the words that were on his tongue in favour of others, “Thank you.”

Grantaire huffed a laughter and leaned forward to steal a kiss from Enjolras' lips.

“You could repay me, you know...”, murmured Grantaire seductively and Enjolras had to smile. He rolled to his side and faced Grantaire now. Slowly and carefully he leaned forward, sealing their lips again. They kissed for a long time – Enjolras wished it would never end – while Enjolras trailed his fingers down Grantaire's chest and stomach to the waistband of Grantaire's pants.

Enjolras had never been good at giving head. Grantaire had always assured him that he was being very good at it, but that had been a lie. Enjolras had to find out that it had been one in a very unpleasant way involving a nice boy from uni laughing his butt off when they had landed in his bed after a drunken night at a faculty party. Enjolras had never tried it again after that incident.

And they had never actually slept with each other. They had been young, they had done other things and had promised themselves that when the right moment was there, it would happen. But the right moment never came and then Enjolras left for Paris. They had never been that intimate with each other and Enjorlas dreaded to take that step now. He could just give Grantaire a hand job and hope that it was enough for him, that it was enough to repay him for taking care of Enjolras just now.

“Stop thinking.”, ordered Grantaire and tugged his face into the hollow between Enjolras' neck and shoulder, breathing hotly while Enjolras' hand was still outlining him through his pants.

“I wasn't...”, protested Enjolras in a quiet voice which made Grantaire actually chuckle breathlessly.

“I always know when you are overthinking, Sebastien. Just... _ah_... just let go!”, demanded Grantaire with a thick voice and started sucking at Enjolras' skin again.

Enjolras smiled and tugged down Grantaire's boxers, making his breath hitch in his throat. Enjolras flung the pants off the bed and made Grantaire chuckle again, nearly hysterical while he shook his head about him. Enjolras smiled at him and leaned down to kiss him again. Grantaire sighed into the kiss and tilted his head up.

“Do you have... um...”, whispered Enjorlas into Grantaire's lips, hesitating. Grantaire raised his head and opened his eyes, pupils wide with arousal, lips shining tempting and Enjolras somehow lost the train of thoughts while his right hand trailed up and down the trail of hair he had been admiring earlier on.

“What?”, asked Grantaire quietly and reached up, cupping his cheek tenderly to kiss him softly, “What do you need?”

“Lube?”, asked Enjolras nearly a little shy because he didn't know whether Grantaire still liked it with lube or without, if he wanted to have a hand job or if he expected something else from Enjolras, if this was what he needed right now or if he should try himself at sucking cock again, just to please Grantaire.

“You're doing it again.”, smiled Grantaire and mouthed along Enjolras' jaw again, “It's in the drawer...”

Enjolras rolled over and rummaged through the drawer – filled with condoms, several small bottles of different lube and a few other things Enjolras didn't want to recognize just now. He fished out one small bottle with clear liquid and rolled onto his side again.

Grantaire was sprawled over the bed now, legs spread, one arm dangling over the edge, the other folded over his eyes. He was breathing deeply and Enjolras flushed about the view he offered him. He was already hard and Enjolras regretted how long he had to wait for Enjolras to care for his needs after Grantaire had served all of his.

The tell-tale click of the bottle painted a grin on Grantaire's lips and he raised the arm over his eyes, looping it around Enjolras' shoulders while Enjolras snuggled up to him, hooking one leg over Grantaire's left. Enjolras licked his lips and squeezed a blob of lube into his palm which made Grantaire moan softly. He turned his head to see Grantaire watch him intently.

Enjolras smiled softly and put the bottle down, tugging himself tighter against Grantaire, propped up on one elbow while he slowly reached down.

“Tell me if you...”

“God, Enjolras, just touch me for fuck's sake or I'm going to... _bloody hell_!”

Grantaire's head thumped back onto the mattress while he moaned desperate. Enjolras had curled his fingers around him in the blink of an eye and had started pumping in a ruthless pace that had Grantaire gasping in seconds.

“Fuck... oh fuck... Enj... Stop, please... stop stop _stop_!”, panted Grantaire and eventually caught Enjolras wrist in his hand, raising his head to look at Enjolras again whose turn it was to grin this time.

“Gee, do you want to kill me?”, he purred and grinned when Enjolras swooped down to kiss him with a lot of tongue. Grantaire's fingers uncurled from Enjolras' wrist and – proud of himself that he could have made Grantaire come undone in less than a few minutes – he started pumping his fist slowly, twisting his wrist with every downwards stroke.

“Better...”, exhaled Grantaire and let his head fall back again. While Enjolras kept the slow pace, he turned his head away from the sight of Grantaire's cock in his fist and started kissing Grantaire. His lips, his jaw, his neck, his shoulders, his chest and stopped at his nipples – sucking, licking, nibbling gently.

Grantaire turned under the attention bestowed on him and fisted the hand that had rested on Enjolras' back into Enjolras' hair again. After a few more licks, nibbles and a few more pumps of his hand, Grantaire unravelled and spent in pearlescent ripples over Enjolras' hand and his stomach, making Enjolras smile satisfied.

Enjolras turned his head and kissed Grantaire who breathed heavily into the kiss, bringing both hands up to cup Enjolras' face. Enjolras took care of the mess on his stomach and his own hand a little later before tugging the cover over them. Grantaire rolled onto his side and drew Enjolras' back against his chest, wrapping his arms tightly around Enjolras' abdomen, burying his face in Enjolras' hair.

While Enjolras' traced lazy patterns into the skin of Grantaire's lower arms with one forefinger, Grantaire hummed and whispered: “Did you think our conversation would go this way when you came here?”

Enjolras chuckled and entwined Grantaire's fingers with his, raising his hand to his lips to press a kiss to the back of Grantaire's hand.

“No.”, he said in a soft whisper, “But I am glad it did.”

Grantaire kissed his shoulder and let go off him briefly to roll over and flick off the light in the room. Enjolras' heart was pounding madly while Grantaire seemed to want him to stay the night. He smiled into the darkness while Grantaire's warmth returned to his back and Grantaire kissed his neck before settling down behind him, sighing deeply.

Grantaire drifted off to sleep fairly soon and Enjolras was left awake, in the arms of the man he loved for more than ten years now. He couldn't believe what had just happened, couldn't believe that Grantaire still wanted him after all this time, after all he had done to him. Enjolras furrowed his eyebrows and kissed Grantaire's hand again, relishing in the warmth on his lips.

He still needed to talk to Grantaire. He still needed to apologize to him for the cruelty he had done to him all those years ago. He fought down the impulse to wake Grantaire up immediately to deal with things and sighed. In the morning. He would talk to Grantaire in the morning.


	4. Chapter 4

The shock shot through his sleeping organism and made him gasp. His eyes flew open and he saw nothing but white and red slurs, his hands curling into fabric. His mind started working properly and he took the shirt off of his eyes to blink into the bright sun of the morning, still lying in the king-sized bed of Grantaire's suite. Only that Grantaire wasn't there anymore.

“Get up and _piss off_!”

Enjolras blinked and clutched the shirt to his bare chest when he got aware of Jehan, gathering up his pants and trousers for him to fling them into his face as well.

“Wha... what?”, stuttered Enjolras and pushed the hair out of his face.

Jehan's grey eyes were stormy and lethal when he glared at Enjolras, hair held back in a bun, wearing the formal clothes of a business man all with tie and suit jacket.

“Get the fuck out of here!”, hissed Jehan and stalked threatening towards him so that Enjolras literally backed off against the headboard of the bed.

“Where's Grantaire?”, he asked in lack of anything else to say, still hoping that Jehan would not rip his throat out while he glowered at him.

“Non of your business!”

Enjolras wanted to shout at him that he had just had the most incredible night with Grantaire and had slept in his very arms so that it was very much his business but bit back the anger and settled for saying: “I think it is.”

Jehan grabbed his arm and yanked at it, making Enjolras tumble out of the bed in a pile of sheets, clothing and limbs. He was on his feet in an instant and tugged on his pants, horrified that Grantaire's muse should see him naked.

“You bloody _earsling_!”, snapped Jehan and pushed Enjolras towards the door, “You ignorant, self-centred, arrogant _rampallian_! Get the hell out of here and leave Grantaire the fuck alone!”

“I don't think you are in the position to deny me to see him if he wants to see me.”, replied Enjolras pressed, straining to keep his anger in.

Jehan drew his arm back and Enjolras expected to receive a slap around the face, then Jehan's face hardened and he lowered his arm, glaring furious at Enjolras while he hissed: “I am the _only_ person who has that right. I've been there for him and I won't let you back into his life. Not after what you did.”

“I came to talk to him about that, to apologize!”, shot Enjolras back, finally pulling on his shirt after putting on his trousers and shoes.

Jehan laughed hard and looked at Enjolras afterwards, shaking his head in disgust: “That is too late, you fustilarian! The damage has been done, a few words won't patch that whole you left in his soul.”

Enjolras didn't know if he should laugh about Jehan's dramatic way of chiding him or cry because he knew that Jehan was right. He knew that he had broken Grantaire, had tore his heart out because he had heard Combeferre talk to him on the phone twice when he thought Enjolras wasn't listening. He knew that Grantaire had cried because Combeferre had been close to tears as well and he knew that Grantaire had vanished after Combeferre's second conversation with him although Combeferre tried to hold that information back.

“I could try.”, said Enjolras through a tight throat and kept his eyes trained on Jehan whose eyes started swimming in tears.

“Nothing you could ever do would make things right.”, snapped Jehan and stepped up to him, glaring up into his eyes, “You don't know what he's been through. You don't know how much he's suffered. You don't know...”

Jehan's voice broke and he had to look away, screwing his eyes shut with memory. When he looked up, there was a burning hate in his eyes but also something Enjolras couldn't quite place. Something that made him shiver and his stomach go cold as ice.

“You're right, I don't know, I can only imagine how heartbroken he must have been...”

“Heartbroken?”, parroted Jehan and was back with full fury, crowding Enjolras through the room towards the door, pushing him slightly from time to time, “ _Heartbroken_?! You sly carbuncle, you have no idea what your cruelty did to him!”

Enjolras held against the next push and batted away Jehan's hands this time, growing more angry by the minute when Jehan did not even seem to acknowledged that he indeed was sorry and wanted to apologize because he had been wrong, he knew that.

“Stop acting like I don't...”

“He's been living on the streets!”, yelled Jehan and there were tears running down his cheeks now. Enjolras froze and stared, eyes wide, breath caught in his throat. Had he misheard? His heart had nearly stopped beating while Jehan went on: “He's slept under a railway bridge. He's been doing drugs, for god's sake. He's been on heroin and he's been living on nothing but alcohol and what he found in the waste. He's been closer to death than to life when Éponine and I found him!”

 

 

“ _OK, guys, this is your stop. Out with you and do some good!”, smiled Sister Simplice and pulled over. Éponine grabbed her backpack while Jehan opened the door of the van._

“ _I'll be picking you up in about two hours. If something's wrong, call me or any other staff member.”, she said and smiled most fondly at Jehan and Éponine. Jehan closed the door and stepped to the rolled down window, smiling at the young woman at the steering wheel._

“ _I think we should be fine, thanks. But in case something goes wrong, I whole-heartedly swear we will call.”, he smiled and took her hand, kissing the back of it._

“ _Come on, Romeo!”, snickered Éponine and flung her backpack over her shoulder._

_Jehan smiled at Sister Simplice for a moment, then he turned on his heels and followed Éponine into the upcoming darkness. He was working this strip of the city for about three months now and Éponine had joined him four weeks ago after she had fully recovered. He had found her and her little brother on his first day of work._

_They had been living half-rough on the streets with an occasional stop at their parents house and Éponine had first sneered at him, but then allowed to help when he had told her that Gavroche's coughing sounded like a developing pneumonia. Now Gavroche and Éponine lived in one of the flats provided by the welfare and Éponine had teamed up with Jehan to help the other unfortunate souls living on the streets._

_They met their usual suspects, the light drinkers and the slightly befuddled who liked Jehan to read them a poem – of which most he invented on the spot for a loss of a book. They handed out food, drink, basic medicine like cough-drops, nasal spray or dressings and plasters. Éponine tried to convince most of them to move into a welfare flat but didn't really succeed. But it was summer and sleeping on the streets was not as dangerous as it could be in winter._

_At last they neared the old railway bridge, the point where they usually took a small break before making their way into the station to talk to a woman and two men living in the station. Poverty was a big issue and although most people closed their eyes to it, Jehan had taken it upon him to make the world better, working part-time at a welfare while studying for a degree in English, French and German Literature. And helping people made him happier, so he had cut down his courses to the minimum to work the maximum at the welfare._

“ _Tea?”, asked Éponine who had climbed onto the railing along the river and balanced the backpack on her knees._

“ _Far too warm...”, he grinned and leaned back against the railing himself, propping his elbows onto the cool metal while putting his head back to gaze at the stars._

“ _A sandwich then?”_

“ _The ones you make or Gavroche's?”_

“ _Gavroche's.”_

“ _Then I'll take one!”_

“ _Hey!”, laughed Éponine and elbowed him fondly after handing him a sandwich. Jehan grinned wide and unwrapped the small treat while Éponine poured herself tea._

“ _Victoire seemed interested about the shared flat, didn't she?”, asked Éponine deep in thoughts, reflecting on the evening's work._

“ _Yes. And it's always easier to settle in if you have someone you know.”, added Jehan and took a healthy bite from his sandwich._

“ _The question is why she didn't go with Paulette and Aimé when they moved to the flat?”, asked Éponine and sighed._

_Jehan didn't answer – in fact hadn't even heard her last few words. He had seen a flicker of light under the bridge and had thought to hear glass shatter. Éponine kept musing about whether it was a good idea to put Victoire, Paulette and Aimé into one flat but Jehan didn't listen. He knew that the place under the bridge had been occupied by Arnaud until he had died last winter – a thing that Jehan could hardly forgive himself for._

_Maybe that was why his heart was beating in his throat now, his hands shaking. A hand closed around his shoulder and Éponine hopped down from the railing, looking concerned at him._

“ _Jehan, what's wrong?”_

“ _I thought... Do you see that, too?”, asked Jehan a little unsettled and blinked rapidly, but the light kept flickering._

“ _That light?”, asked Éponine who never met Arnaud and cocked her head, “Do you think there's someone down there?”_

“ _Don't know.”, said Jehan a little shaken and wrapped up his sandwich again, “I knew a man once who lived down there. There is a little space under the lee of the pillars were he liked to sleep. It was warmer there...”_

“ _You think he's back?”, asked Éponine when Jehan broke off._

“ _No.”, said Jehan quietly, “He died.”_

_Éponine knew him well enough after the short time of working together to sense that Jehan had known, liked and lost the man and was blaming himself for it. And she also knew that pitying or consoling him was not what Jehan needed or wanted._

“ _Then let's see who's taken over his space.”, she suggested and shouldered her backpack. Jehan combed his fingers through his shoulder length hair – dyed blond with various pastel colours at the tips ranging from blue over red to green and orange from the one time he had volunteered as a model for a friend who had had her practical assignment in her hair dresser apprenticeship – and sighed deeply, shirking from Éponine's gaze. But he knew that they had to check, the death of Arnaud had showed them that they needed to pay more attention to the secluded places._

“ _Let's go.”, he said and led Éponine to the edge of the walkway, where – under the railing – the floor dropped about one and a half meter to the level of the river shore. He glanced down. Not too much rubbish there. So Jehan climbed over the railing and jumped down, helping Éponine down carefully although she scolded with him for mothering her._

“ _I know, I know. You're one big, strong woman who doesn't need a hand climbing down a... ow!”, he chuckled when Éponine flicked his nose and looked over to the pillars. Jehan followed her eyes._

_Someone had spread a tarpaulin between the two pillars and had piled up a few pieces of junk at one side to build an even more effective wind shield. A small flame consumed a small candle stump with a constant flicker, placed into a broken green bottle on the ground. So that had been the sound Jehan had heard._

“ _Stay back a little, please.”, ordered Jehan and Éponine didn't – fore once – talk back. She probably knew well enough that Jehan would make her go back onto street level if she disobeyed._

_It was one thing to work with the people living rough, that they already knew. It was a completely other thing to approach a stranger, Jehan had experienced that on a quite early stage when a sharp jagged piece of glass had been buried in his thigh when he had approached a drunken man vomiting from food poisoning after eating right out of the rubbish containers outside a restaurant. Self-defence, he had claimed – and Jehan had fought the police men who wanted to arrest the man._

_So Éponine followed Jehan with a distance of about two steps between them while Jehan approached the light. He gulped nervous, not able to see anything in the twitching shadows that the candle painted against the stone._

“ _Hello?”, he called carefully when he was about two meter away from the provisional camp. He saw something stir in the light but could not make out the person – let alone get an answer. Jehan raised a hand and beckoned Éponine to wait a moment. Slowly and most carefully Jehan approached the fire._

_Behind the small wall of junk, rolled up in a ball, shivering and panting, lay a person, thick, tousled, dull dark curls obstructing a face while the person wound a little, arms clasped around the upper body, legs pulled up against the chest._

_Jehan let all caution drop and dived to the person, sinking down on his knees, placing a hand on the back, the other brushing away the curls, feeling cold sweat soaking hair and shirt._

_A young man. White as a sheet. Blueish veins shining through his skin. Dark circles under his eyes. A wild, sticky beard in black. Edgy features, a face emaciated and waxen. Cold sweat on his brow._

“ _It's all right.”, cooed Jehan while he turned over his shoulder and raised a hand, forming the sign for a phone call. Éponine knew in an instant what was to do and turned away to hurry to the street to get an ambulance._

“ _It's all right, I'm here now.”, soothed Jehan who knew that he was either dealing with an overdose or an involuntary cold turkey judging from the symptoms, “My name's Jehan, I'm here to help you. What's your name?”_

_The eyes of the man opened and Jehan only recognized then that he was not so much older than he was – in fact, he might even be younger than him. His green eyes were overclouded, dull, confused and hooded by pain. But they fixated on Jehan's face and a smile, so painful that Jehan wanted to cry, spread over his features. He reached up, a dirt crusted jittery hand caressing a curl that hung into Jehan's eyes._

“ _Enjolras...”, he breathed, his breath reeking from cheap liquor and smokes._

“ _Hey Enjolras, can you tell me...”_

_The young man howled wordless and curled up even further, sounds of utter despair tumbling from his lips now, his eyes squeezed shut again and Jehan was a little helpless. The good thing was he was responding to his words which meant Jehan was not too late to help him._

_Carefully Jehan cowered down a little more and rubbed his back comforting while he brushed once again the hair out of his eyes and started talking again: “OK, all right. I think we started off wrong here. Let's start over again, shall we? My name is Jean Prouvaire, but you can call me Jehan. I want to help you. Please, let me help you, that would make my evening! Can you tell me what's wrong with you? Are you hurt? Did you drink something or...”_

“ _...Jehan...”_

_It had been so softly that Jehan had nearly missed it but then he stopped and leaned down, seeing that the boy was staring into the pebbles under his cheek, unblinking, unseeing, his lips quivering helpless while violent tremors shook his gaunt frame._

“ _Yes?”_

“ _Let me sleep here.”_

_Jehan knew that he didn't want to sleep, knew what swung also in these words, knew that if he left now, he would loose the second person to this spot. So he just kept rubbing warmth back into the skin of the boy and said: “I will not do that. No matter how bad you think this muddle you're in is, I will help you solve it. I'll be there for you, OK? We get through this together, I promise. Just don't give up now. There's always a way and I swear to you I won't give up on you or leave you. Please, let me help you. I would blame myself forever if something happened to you.”_

_The boy turned his head and stared up at Jehan, his face tired and calm all of a sudden while sweat still poured from his brow. Jehan heard sirens in the distance and hoped that it was the ambulance Éponine had called. He raised a hand and brushed away the sweaty curls, the back of his fingers brushing the cold skin of the boy's temple._

_He reached up with an agility that made Jehan jump and caught Jehan's hand. There was an urgency in his eyes although no threat in his move while he clasped Jehan's hand, his mouth opening and closing in despair, silent sobs shaking him._

“ _I'm not worth the effort.”, the boy spat out after a moment – suddenly surprisingly clear and Jehan hoped that that was not a sign how close to the abyss he was – and glared at Jehan, “I wasn't worth to be with_ him _.”_

“ _Then he was a fool.”, said Jehan automatically, making the connection between the name muttered before – Enjolras? – and the suffering of the young man without trouble._

_And Jehan knew that he wasn't even lying. All the dirt, the rough traces of living on the street and the hints of drug and alcohol abuse couldn't wipe away that this boy was beautiful. Maybe not from the standards that society set – but who was Jehan to live after society's standards? – but Jehan had seen it in his eyes. He was a good person with a kind heart and a beautiful soul, a person who had suffered so much and who needed a friend to help him. And Jehan wanted to be that friend more than anything._

“ _He was a fool if he let you go, let me tell you.”, said Jehan softly and closed his fingers around the hand that clung to his, still running his fingers over cool, damp skin while he caressed the face of the boy, “You are not worthless and I will show you that you are not. Trust me, OK? I'll get you away from here and we do something against the pain and then, if you want, you can tell me about yourself. Not what he did or what he said, I want to get to know_ you _, OK? Because you are as worthy as any other person on this planet, maybe even worth more than others...”_

_The boy rolled to the side again and Jehan's heart ached when he saw that the boy was crying, still clinging to his hand, tugging it under his chin and sobbing into his sleeve. Jehan kept holding his hand and stroking his face while the sirens came closer. He felt warm all over when he thought about the green eyes and wondered how they would sparkle if they were not clouded with alcohol and rests of drugs._

“ _...Grantaire...”_

_Again, Jehan nearly missed the word the boy uttered and leaned down a little more. His eyes were closed but he had stilled, still clinging to Jehan's hand. Jehan smiled fondly and leaned down, pressing his lips carefully against the temple of the boy who had just told him his name... a good start._

“ _Hi, Grantaire. We'll take care of you now, OK? There are a few people who want to make sure that you are all right, OK? They're coming to us right now.”, explained Jehan while Éponine pointed the two paramedics down towards Jehan, “They'll take you to some place safe and will make sure that you feel better. OK, Grantaire?”_

_His eyes opened again while the paramedics were with them, rolling him over. Jehan briefly told them how he had found him and the men nodded, unfolding a stretcher to put Grantaire onto. His green eyes never left Jehan and his hand staid curled around his fingers, holding on tight all the way into the ambulance, to the hospital and could only be uncurled after Jehan promised to stay until he was out of the examination area, promised to wait for him._

 

Jehan sobbed angrily and grabbed Enjolras by the front of his shirt, shaking him with helpless fury. He was still crying but was also in such a state of fury that he didn't mind that Enjolras was nearly a head taller than him and – most likely – also a lot stronger than he.

“You nearly killed him! You nearly killed him and he still _insisted_ on inviting you to his vernissage!”, yelled Jehan desperate, “I know what it did to him, I knew that he was not ready, that he would _never_ be ready. And he would not listen to me!”

Jehan's voice broke again and he let go off Enjolras, covering his face with his hands while his shoulders shook from silent sobs.

Enjolras just stared, feeling like throwing up any second. He couldn't believe everything he had just heard although – somewhere deep in his heart – he knew that Jehan was right, he had always known that Grantaire had crashed and burnt without him, he just didn't want to see it, to believe it. He felt as if the world was fading into the background until nothing of it was left but Jehan and his tears.

Slowly Jehan took his hands from his face and turned to Enjolras, his face full of sorrow and grief while he shook his head slowly.

“If you care for him... just the tiniest bit...”, he sobbed closer to a whisper than anything else, “... then just go. Go and never _ever_ come back. Please, he couldn't handle... it would kill him.”

“I would never...”, stuttered Enjolras mechanical but Jehan shouted: “But you have. You _have_ and nothing you can say will ever make me believe you wouldn't do it _again_. And if it will be the death of me, I will not allow you to return in his life. You lost that chance when you dropped off that letter.”

Enjolras stared at the crying Jehan and felt utterly helpless... and like the worst person in the whole world. He had always known that it had been the wrong way to end things with Grantaire, had known that it had been infantile and illogical, but he never had known that Grantaire had nearly destroyed himself about it. While still staring at Jehan, Enjolras felt for the first time thankful that Grantaire had had the slender young man with the feminine features. If he had not found him...

Enjolras' brain short-circuited. He couldn't think further into that direction, couldn't think about a world where his letter had cost Grantaire's life. Regret, fear and sadness were streaming through his blood and Enjolras heard his heart louder than ever.

He didn't even know when his feet started moving, when he turned around and left. He didn't see anything on his way back, didn't remember stepping onto the street, didn't remember taking the metro, didn't remember the stairs, the door, the dog. Didn't think, didn't remember, didn't feel.

 

*

 

“Hey, are you all right?”

“Yes, of course. I just wanted to check if he called?”

“No, not yet. I left him a note to call but he hasn't until now.”

“Shit.”

“So I take it he hasn't shown up to work?”

Courfeyrac propped his elbow up on the desk and rubbed his eyes with one hand while he held the mobile to his ear. He sighed deeply and shook his head, only remembering then that Combeferre couldn't see him.

“No. He's not shown up, called or texted. Nothing.”

“Maybe he's still with Grantaire. Who knows? Maybe they're talking things over. Maybe they _have_ talked things over and enjoy a little togetherness now?”

“Ferre, I'm supposed to be the optimist between the two of us and you are supposed to worry. Don't make me worry, please...”, groaned Courfeyrac and regretted that he hadn't called in sick to wait for Enjolras at home.

“They are both reasonable adults and old enough to be looking after themselves. You should stop worrying, Darling, they are surely fine.”, tried Combeferre to sooth his boyfriend – which didn't work at all.

“Enjolras would never keep away from work when not stricken down by... I don't know... the pocks or something!”

“Darling, firstly, the pocks are said to be eradicated on the earth, so he'll most likely not catch those any time soon...”

“I hate you sometimes.”, interrupted Courfeyrac grumbling while Combeferre on the other end huffed a soft laughter.

“Listen, Darling, my break is over now and I got to go back. Joly is loosing his head over the crash-victims that are coming in steadily and I need to help him. Please, don't worry so much. Enjolras and Grantaire most likely hide under the covers and just relish in finding each other again. If something had happened, Jehan or Éponine had called or Enjolras himself would have called. Don't worry, OK?”

“If you say so...”, sighed Courfeyrac and took his face out of his palm.

“I love you...”, murmured Combeferre and painted a smile on Courfeyrac's lips while he murmured back: “I love you too.”

The speaker clicked and Courfeyrac put his mobile back into his pocket, sighing deeply again. He was thankful that on Mondays there was not that much work to be done because most lawyers were at court or in meetings. So no one had recognized that Enjolras had not come to work today – not yet. Javert was going to be in court all day and if Champmathieu wasn't storming in to demand Enjolras' help again, maybe no one would notice and Courfeyrac would not have to come up with a half-hearted explanation.

Courfeyrac tried hard to focus on the research he was doing for Monsieur Valjean but could not bring himself to look up the paragraphs required for the case. He checked his email account every ten seconds and glanced both at his phone and his mobile in turns to check for messages or for calls from Enjolras.

He nearly jumped out of his skin when his mobile vibrated about an hour later and drew it out of his pocket in an instant, hoping to see the much longed for name. It wasn't Enjolras though but a text from the daughter of their neighbour who walked Lamarque in the afternoon when they were all at work.

 

_Annabellé (9:48): Hey Courf, just saw Enjolras in the hallway. Looked horrible & didn't respond to my greeting. Is he all right? Do I still need to walk Lamarque? Bellé x_

 

“Shit...”, cursed Courfeyrac and got up in an instant, stuffing his belongings into his work-bag and gathering his mobile afterwards, typing back while leaving his office towards Valjean's.

 

_Sent (9:52): Thanks for texting. Going home to check on him right now. Call you later! Courf xxx_

 

Courfeyrac sighed horribly worried and knocked with two knuckles against the door frame, making Valjean look up from his work.

“I'm sorry to bother you, Monsieur Valjean, but I just got a call that I have a... an emergency in the family and I just wanted to let you know that I need to head home.”, declared Courfeyrac, feeling on the one side the urge to just bolt from the office, on the other hand a bad conscious harassed him because he let Valjean alone with tons of work.

“Is this about the staying away of Monsieur Enjolras today?”, asked Valjean concerned and furrowed his eyebrows while he placed the tips of his fingers against each other and frowned at Courfeyrac – who was a little startled because he hadn't thought that Valjean would have noticed.

“Yes, Monsieur, it is... unfortunately.”, answered Courfeyrac truthfully and clutched his bag closer to his side.

Valjean sighed deeply and shook his head, his eyes more worried than Courfeyrac had ever seen him. He then looked back at Courfeyrac and nodded: “All right, head home and take care of this. And if you need something, anything, just call me. Are you all right, Clément?”

Valjean was the only one who addressed Courfeyrac with his first name in the firm and it made Courfeyrac grin – like always. He slowly nodded and answered: “I will be as soon as I know that Enjolras is fine. Thank you for your offer, Monsieur. I'll see you tomorrow!”

“Please email me if Enjolras is fine.”, called Valjean after him and Courfeyrac nodded, already half in the elevator. Against his usual habit, Courfeyrac hailed a taxi a moment later and gave the driver the address, tugging his mobile out when the taxi started moving.

 

_Sent (10:02): Bellé texted. Enjolras is home but behaved strange. Told Valjean that I had an emergency in the family. Call me when you read this. Love you xxx_

 

He clutched the mobile in one hand and pressed the cool plastic against his lips while he stared out the window, hoping that Combeferre would read the text sooner rather than later. But with the mass-crash on the motorway just a few hours ago he would probably be elbow-deep in some emergency-surgeries and not able to go on a break for hours.

Normally Combeferre was the specialist when it came to Enjolras and Courfeyrac was nervous about the prospect of having to deal with Enjolras – in whatever state he might be in – on his own. He knew his friend as well as the back of his hand but he had never known about this side of Enjolras – helplessly and utterly in love with the boy he broke up with so many years ago. He didn't really know how to handle it.

When he had met Enjolras, the blond student had seemed to him like the only person on earth who never smiled. He had taken to him like a moth to light and made it his very own crusade to make him smile because – let's face it – Enjolras looked so much more beautiful when he smiled.

And with a lot of effort and persistence bordering on obsession, he had succeeded in opening Enjolras up to the world, in making him smile, joke and laugh out loud. He had found a way to channel his energy for the fight for equality and to make him see that the world could also be beautiful even if he didn't get his way and even if he still saw too much injustice.

Lately though, Courfeyrac wondered if he had carried this struggle too far. Because Enjolras had lost a lot of his energy and drive for his fight. Of course, they had organized many rallies in university and had tried to start an activist group to support the oppressed and deprived parts of the people – which unfortunately didn't work out at all – but had caused no change at all. This surely had to do with dampening Enjolras' motivation. Courfeyrac was sure that it must have been too tiring for Enjolras to receive blow after blow, year after year, without seeing any change in the world or in the minds of the people.

Courfeyrac and Combeferre had watched Enjolras loose his fire and trying to change his way of approaching things. And what had been his plan at first – namely to become a successful lawyer to open up his own law firm to help the oppressed and change the system from within – had slowly dissolved into nothingness and had changed their friend a lot. He still spoke about it, about the firm, but Courfeyrac knew that he had long resigned from it. It was just his way to pretend that he still cared.

Courfeyrac had tried to talk to Combeferre about that change in Enjolras, about his worries over Enjolras, but Combeferre had not been willing to listen, to see. He was there for Enjolras when he was down and helped to build him back up, but he did not want to see that Enjolras had changed – for the worse. Because admitting that change meant that Combeferre had no guiding light in Enjolras anymore, no means to channel his own attempts at changing the world for the better. He had no paragon to look up to anymore.

The taxi pulled over. Courfeyrac was dragged out of his thoughts and paid the driver before getting out. He hurried up the stairs but before he could unlock the door, the door facing their flat opened and a young girl stepped out, bristly red hair sticking up in all directions.

“Hey Courf, I thought I heard you.”, she greeted him, a worried frown furrowing her brows.

Courfeyrac turned around and offered a smile of which he hoped it was soothing to Annabellé.

“Well, everyone tells me I'm making too much of a tumult whenever I get home. Sorry for that.”, he apologized and fiddled his key out of his bag.

“To be honest, I've been waiting for you. I was worried. Enjolras looked like crap.”, confessed Annabellé and closed the door to the flat of her parents, stepping up to Courfeyrac and frowning worried up at him.

“When did he get home?”, asked Courfeyrac, turning the key nervous in his hands.

“Let's see... maybe fifteen minutes before I texted you. I was leaving the pharmacy when I saw him. I called over to him to hold the door open for me but he didn't. I thought he had not heard me and followed him up the stairs. I talked to him but he didn't turn around or answered. He did not hear me... and I was basically walking two steps behind him.”, explained the girl and huffed.

“He's had a rough weekend.”, offered Courfeyrac a pressed explanation and turned to the door again.

“Do you want me to take Lamarque to our flat for today? Maman doesn't mind and I think you don't need a little ball of wool running around the flat now, do you?”, offered Annabellé quietly and watched Courfeyrac unlock the door.

Like he had already suspected, Lamarque lay curled up right on the doorstep, raising her head to him when the door opened. So Enjolras had kicked her out of his room and she waited for the next one to come home and comfort her. Not a good sign. He bent down and picked Lamarque up, pressing an apologetic kiss into her fur. He turned to Annabellé then and smiled thankful.

“Yes, that would be absolutely great. Can I also give you the leash? I'll pick her up as soon as Ferre's home, all right?”, he asked and unloaded the dog into Annabellé's arms.

“Absolutely no worries. You know I like having her around.”, grinned Annabellé but her face darkened when she saw how worried Courfeyrac was, “If you need help or something, I'm home.”

“Thanks.”, sighed Courfeyrac and stepped into the flat, shooting a last look at Annabellé, “But I'll think we'll be fine.”

Annabellé nodded and turned around, Courfeyrac finally able to close the door without feeling like shoving it into her face. He exhaled and toed his shoes off, dropping the bag onto the pile of shoes that they never managed to clear out of the hallway in lieu of a shoe-rack. The flat was suspiciously quiet and Courfeyrac made his way into the hallway slowly, stealing a glance into the living room before going past the kitchen to Enjolras' room.

He knew that if he rushed or Enjolras felt ambushed, he would not get through to him at all. He knew Enjolras' favourite hideaway was his room and therefore he entered without knocking. Only to find it empty. Courfeyrac frowned confused and pricked his ears when he got aware of the sound of water running in the bathroom. The shower was on.

He turned to the door and debated with himself if it was a wise idea to check on Enjolras in the shower, whether it would be too invading or just right. Casting his doubts into the wind because – let's face it – they were living in the same flat for four years now and had all seen each other naked – in various compromising states of nakedness too – that Courfeyrac could blame his intrusion on worries.

He pushed the door open to their bathroom and was greeted by wavering clouds of steam and a humid air like in the subtropics. Courfeyrac blinked rapidly and stepped inside the tiny bathroom, feeling his short-sleeved button-down start to cling to his body with the sweat that broke out instantly in the heat of the room.

The shower was running indeed and Courfeyrac shook his head confused when he not saw a person standing in the shower but – his heart missed a few beats – a small shape huddled up in the corner of the shower cubicle. He darted towards the glass door and yanked it open, ignoring the water drenching him when he knelt down and cupped Enjolras' cheeks with both hands. Carefully he lifted Enjorlas' head from his chest and stared wide eyed and genuinely scared at him.

“Enj, hey, _hey_ , Enj, look at me.”, he pleaded breathless, watching Enjolras' eyes slowly focus on him, “It's me, Courf, I'm here. God, Enj, what _happened_?!”

He reached up and turned off the steady stream of water pouring over them while Enjolras literally whimpered and leaned forward against Courfeyrac's shoulder, shaking in his loose embrace. Courfeyrac sighed deeply and wrapped his arms around Enjolras while he knelt in a very uncomfortable position in the shower, dripping wet from not turning off the shower before stepping in and holding a shaking Enjolras. He felt helpless.

“It's OK.”, he whispered and turned his head to press a kiss to Enjolras' soaked curls, “I'm here now, Enj, it's OK. I got you.”

Enjolras seized shuddering after a moment or two in which Courfeyrac had stroked his curls and had whispered soothing words into his ear and Courfeyrac felt confident enough to pull away a little. He tried to look in Enjolras' eyes but they remained averted and half-closed.

“Come on.”, sighed Courfeyrac and pressed a kiss to his forehead, “Let's get you out of the shower and dry you up, all right?”

Enjolras didn't protest and let Courfeyrac help him out of the shower, rub his hair dry and dry him off with a white, fluffy towel before hanging a towel around his own shoulders. He ushered Enjolras into his bedroom and pulled out the most comfortable clothes he could find and started to coax Enjolras into letting him dress him when Enjorlas seemed to wake from his stupor.

“I can... dress myself.”, he grumbled and took the shirt from Courfeyrac after he had allowed him to help him into pants and sweatpants. Courfeyrac wanted to draw back as Enjolras put his shirt over but thought better of it and staid very close to his friend, still worried he might collapse any second. And as soon as the shirt was on, Courfeyrac experienced something he never experienced before.

Enjolras cast down his eyes, squinted to the side and stepped forward into Courfeyrac's personal space, nothing more. It was probably the most awkward and strange request for a hug Courfeyrac had ever seen but it conveyed the message. He wrapped his arms around Enjolras' shoulders and pulled him tight. It bothered him so much at that moment that he was smaller than both Enjolras and Combeferre because he wished he could properly wrap Enjolras up. Instead he was awkwardly wobbling around on tiptoes, half clinging, half holding Enjolras who bent down, tugging his head into the hollow between Courfeyrac's shoulder and neck.

He was shaking again and his breath came irregular and with a little strain and Courfeyrac started patting his back carefully. He didn't know how to handle a breakdown, it shot through his mind when Enjolras made a little whining noise in the back of his throat and curled his hands into Courfeyrac's still wet button-down. Courfeyrac held him for a moment longer, then he pushed him off himself and lead him into the living room, no words needed while they padded along the hallway, Enjolras more led than walking, still clinging.

He managed to make Enjolras sit down on the sofa and flopped down next to him, easing Enjolras' clinging fingers out of his shirt. He had to breath deeply in order to calm down his own strained nerves for all he wanted to do was curl up and cry himself when he saw how helpless and desperate Enjolras seemed without him knowing the reason for it.

“Enjolras.”, he said quietly and thanked all deities he knew for the soft and steady sound of his voice, “I need to get out of these clothes and want to make us some tea. Can you wait here for a second? I promise I'll be right back, I just go to my room and the kitchen. If you need something, you can call, all right?!”

Enjolras sunk back into the cushions and nodded slowly, his face struggling between empty and filled with a turmoil of feelings. Courfeyrac leaned forward and placed a warm peck onto his temple once more, not knowing how else to express that he worried and was there for him. Then he made his way to the kitchen to snatch Combeferre's emergency beeper and set the kettle.

He knew that Combeferre would most likely have a heart-attack as soon as the beeper went off because it was only meant for the most crucial emergencies. But as close to an actual heart-attack as Courfeyrac felt just now, this was definitely an emergency. Courfeyrac shoved the door a little more closed and drew his mobile out after alerting Combeferre's beeper. He had not drawn his clinging wet button-down over his head, when his mobile started buzzing. Courfeyrac dived for it lying on the bed.

“Ferre?!”

“What's wrong? Is he hurt? Did you call an ambulance?”, hissed Combeferre and Courfeyrac regretted all of a sudden that he had taken the beeper into action.

“No, he's not really hurt. Well, at least not physically, but I found him in the shower, sitting on the floor, unable to get up alone.”

“Shit.”, breathed Combeferre although he sounded nearly relieved, “Where's he now?”

“I got him out of the shower and into the living room. Ferre, he's acting... he's clinging and not really talking and he's so helpless. I don't know what I should do and I feel like...”

“OK, first of all, you need to breath, Darling.”, said Combeferre in a soft voice and Courfeyrac closed his eyes to take a deep, long breath, “Better?”

“Minimally.”

“All right, we need to make sure that he's not chilled through. Do you know how long he's been in the shower?”

“No, of course not, I came home and found him there.”, grumbled Courfeyrac and set his mobile to speaker mode so that he could get changed while getting instructions, “You're on speaker now, by the way.”

“OK. So, check that he's not too chilled through. Give him something to drink, tea would be great, water, if he doesn't drink tea. Check his pupils and breath for anything unusual. We need to be sure that he's neither drunk nor intoxicated.”

“All right, drink, breath, pupils. Got it.”, repeated Courfeyrac and pulled on a shirt.

“And then I guess all you can do is be there for him.”, sighed Combeferre and Courfeyrac heard how stressed he sounded, “I can't leave here for three to four hours, I'm afraid. There are more and more neural emergencies coming through after this mass-crash this morning. I... I can't...”

“It's all right, Ferre, I didn't want to scare you.”, apologized Courfeyrac and took the mobile off speaker, pressing it to his ear while he walked to the kitchen, casting a glance at the blond flock of Enjolras' hair sticking over the backrest of the sofa.

“Well, then you shouldn't have used the emergency beeper.”, sighed Combeferre and Courfeyrac nearly heard him shake his head, “But I'm glad we know where he is and what he does now. One thing less to worry about.”

“Yes...”, sighed Courfeyrac and poured water into the mugs with one hand, the tea bags floating up in the mugs.

“Are you all right now? I need to get back to work, Joly and I are getting an aneurysm in in a few minutes and we are not done freaking out about it collectively.”

“Yes, sure, I'm fine. Just....”, sighed Courfeyrac and cast a quick look over the shoulder because he had heard a small ruffle from the sofa, “... just see that you can come home as soon as possible, all right?”

“I will. Stay strong, you'll manage.”, tried Combeferre to cheer Courfeyrac up but the strain in his voice was too obvious to be consoling.

“I'll hang up now. Tell Joly I said hi.”

“Will do. I love you, Darling.”

“You too.”, sighed Courfeyrac and hung up. He put his mobile onto the counter and took both mugs, taking a deep breath to calm down his nerves. Ferre was right, he could do that, he could handle seeing his best friend suffering through pain he could not even imagine and...

Courfeyrac shook his head and walked around the sofa, determined to be strong for Enjolras. His friend had curled up on the sofa, head placed on the armrest, arms folded around his body and legs drawn up to his chest. His eyes were closed and a few trails of crystal clear tears had marked his skin.

“Oh, sweetheart...”, breathed Courfeyrac and put the mugs down immediately, kneeling down on the ground next to Enjolras' head, reaching up to carefully wipe away the wetness on his cheeks. On his warm cheeks. Not too chilled through then. Enjolras reached up and took his hand from his face, not letting go though but tugging it under his chin, his eyes still closed.

“I brought you some tea.”, tried Courfeyrac quietly and settled down carefully, trying not to disturb Enjolras but finding a position in which he could sit with him without his arm coming off, “Don't you want some?”

Enjolras shook his head but said nothing, not even opening his eyes. Courfeyrac furrowed his eyebrows and gulped awkwardly. How should he find out if Enjolras was drugged or drunk when he didn't open his eyes? He thought it might be best not to worry about that right now but get to the core of what had happened.

“Sweetheart...”, started Courfeyrac quietly and bit his lip for a moment, thinking how to go on without scaring Enjolras away, “Enjolras... what... what happened? Ferre and I were worried.”

At first, Courfeyrac thought Enjolras would not react at all but after a few moments, Enjolras slowly opened his eyes and stared at Courfeyrac's shoulder, not really seeing his friend. A little worried, Courfeyrac already opened his mouth to keep talking to him when Enjolras spoke up, quiet and insecure: “I... I've had... Grantaire and me... we...”

He furrowed his brows and his face grew strained and so Courfeyrac hurried to comfort him by saying: “It's OK, I get it, I really do. You don't need to explain.”

“No, you don't...”, sighed Enjolras and closed his eyes again, his fingers clenching around Courfeyrac's hand, “You don't understand. I asked... I asked him why and he... he still loves me... always did...”

“But that's wonderful, Enjolras, that is really great news!”, tried Courfeyrac to ease his pain and reached up with the other hand to caress Enjolras' arm but Enjolras closed his eyes and shook his head slowly.

“No... I nearly killed him...”, he whispered with quivering lips.

“You... what...?”, asked Courfeyrac and shivered, his brain not really making sense of Enjolras' words. In a whisper, Enjolras repeated what Jehan had told him, the few bits and pieces he had learned about the past, about Grantaire's lowest point. By the time Enjolras had ended, Courfeyrac sat next to him on the sofa and Enjolras had curled up in his embrace, hiding quiet, dry sobs in his neck.

Courfeyrac's head reeled about everything he had just learned. He wanted to be there for Enjolras, wanted to help him but he felt helpless. Enjolras went into rambles a moment later and Courfeyrac just listened, his heart breaking a little more with every self-loathing word from his best friend. He was not good at this, he couldn't help him with that, he did not know what to do.

But what he could do was listen to him, be there for him to cling to and pet his back, rub his shoulder in a soothing way and press kisses to his hair. That's what Courfeyrac was there for, was good at. For advice and guidance, Enjolras had to wait for Combeferre to get home.

 

*

 

Combeferre crammed the key into the lock and turned, taking deep breaths before entering the flat. He had had a rough day and was tired as hell, but knew that he was needed once more now. And he would power through his tiredness, his strained nerves, the urge to scream, for Enjolras.

Stepping inside, he had not expected the flat to be dead silent. Combeferre leaned over and tried to peek into the living room but saw nothing due to the dusk in the room. He toed off his shoes and...

“Ooooff...”

Courfeyrac clung to him, his face hidden in Combeferre's shirt, his arms like vices, his hands clawed into Combeferre's back. He was shaking and breathing hard while Combeferre had to recover from the shock of the ambush.

“Thank god you're here.”, breathed Courfeyrac and mouthed at Combeferre's neck, an action so out of place in that situation that Combeferre grabbed his shoulders fondly and pushed him away on arms length.

Courfeyrac looked miserable, more miserable than he had ever seen him. He had big bags under his eyes, dark like ripe plums, a stressed wrinkle between his brows and his hair was a complete and utter mess. The fear and worries in his eyes nearly finished Combeferre off and he dropped his bag, wrapping Courfeyrac up.

“Where is he?”, he breathed into his boyfriend's hair, not sure to whom to tend at first. The only thing that convinced him to look for Enjolras first was that Courfeyrac relaxed in his arms and exhaled in a long, dragged out swirl of air after wrapping his arms around Combeferre's middle.

“Asleep... finally. In our bedroom.”

“In our...? How did _that_ happen?”

Courfeyrac struggled free after he heard the completely surprised tone in Combeferre's voice and glared up at him. He seemed irritated all at once and Combeferre steeled himself against the rant to come. He knew his boyfriend well enough by now to know that that was how he reacted to a too emotionally tough situation, so he endured it with patience.

“What do you mean how did that happen?”, barked Courfeyrac, “It just happened, that's what happened. It just did and I don't even know why! All I know is that I had to drag a completely soaked through bundle of raw nerves out of the shower this morning at about half ten and ever since didn't get a second of a break. I couldn't leave him alone after the dam broke, because... believe it or not, Ferre... your best friend cried nearly all day. Enjolras fucking bawled his eyes out and did not seize talking which means didn't seize hating and and and shaming on himself so much that I dreaded leaving him alone of fear that he could throw himself out the window or or or...”

“It's OK.”, murmured Combeferre and pulled Courfeyrac into a hug again, “I'm here now. I'll go check on him and then come back and give you a massage.”

“Don't think one of your illegally-good massages will fix any of this.”, grumbled Courfeyrac, his voice muffled by Combeferre's shirt.

Combeferre kissed the top of his head, then let go off him and smiled kindly. After cupping his cheek and kissing his forehead, Combeferre murmured: “I will be right back...”

He went into their bedroom, where Enjolras was curled up in their vast bed, blankets and pillows piled up and wrapped around him like a gigantic nest. He was curled up on his side, his face mashed into Combeferre's favourite pillow, a frown on his features, even in a deep slumber.

Combeferre exhaled deeply through the nose and approached the bed, sitting down on the edge. He carefully reached up and put his hand over Enjolras' forehead. He knew his friend was prone to developing a fever as a reaction to too much stress and so he checked carefully. No fever, thank god. He took his hand away and pulled off his glasses, pinching the bridge of his nose against the developing headache. He still didn't know completely what had happened, just the bits and pieces he had caught on to by now and wondered if he should ask Enjolras or Courfeyrac for details.

But Enjolras seemed too fast asleep now to be woken up. Deep lines in his face and the glowing red rims around his eyes showed Combeferre how very exhausted he was and he decided to let him sleep. There would be time enough to talk to him. Combeferre and Joly had gotten off the day to come because they had worked too much today. And Combeferre was glad about that. He would talk to Enjolras in the morning.

He leaned forward and brushed away a tousled strand of Enjolras' curls and tugged it carefully behind his ear. Enjolras stirred but did not wake and Combeferre smiled sadly. It had been the dumbest decision of him to call his relationship with Grantaire off, Combeferre knew that now. But now it was too late and he had hoped that they would clear things out last night. Clearly, something had gone wrong there and Combeferre wondered what the hell could have gone wrong so drastically that Enjolras was close to shattering into a million pieces.

He knew Grantaire still well enough to sense that he had been as thrilled to see Enjolras as had been Enjolras himself. And after the sexy-bordering-on-obscene way to teach Enjolras how to drink tequila, Combeferre had been certain that Grantaire had still feelings for Enjolras. So what had gone wrong last night that Enjolras was completely beside himself? And why had he not heard from Jehan? Surely Grantaire must be as shattered as Enjolras was, mustn't he?

Combeferre shook his head to himself and watched his best friend sleep. This situation was a muddle beyond imagination and he did not really see a way out. Those two talking had not worked and him and Courfeyrac talking to Jehan had not worked either as had been proven during the brunch. Maybe Combeferre should talk to Grantaire directly and see what was going on on his side. Maybe Grantaire just needed a little guidance and advice from a third, neutral party.

But was Combeferre so neutral? Sighing he admitted that he was probably not... far from it. He loved Enjolras dearly and wanted to see him happy and from what he remembered from Grantaire, he was madly in love with Enjolras. So what was in the way of that?

Time.

Combeferre furrowed his brows and kept carefully stroking Enjolras' back. Time was the problem. Too much time had passed since that accursed letter, too much time in which Enjolras – and Grantaire, for that matter – had changed. Combeferre didn't want to acknowledge it, but if Enjolras would still the same young man than he had been in lycée, he would have walked up to Grantaire during the vernissage and would have talked to him until he got what he wanted – which was Grantaire. Enjolras would have fought for his love – and Combeferre would bet his life on the fact that Enjolras still loved Grantaire with heart and soul and vice versa – and would have not left until he got what he wanted.

Maybe that had even been what Grantaire had calculated on. Maybe he hadn't been sure how to approach Enjolras and had hoped that by inviting him, Enjolras would make the first step and would patch up their relationship. Maybe Grantaire had thought the bright fire inside Enjolras was still burning in him, causing his passion to overcome every obstacle.

But Grantaire had miscalculated there. Because the fire was gone and where had remained embers just a few years ago, there was no heat, no spark, no light today. Combeferre took off his glasses with one hand and kept rubbing Enjolras' back. His best friend had changed so much that sometimes, when Combeferre allowed himself to think about it, it started to throttle him and took his heart in an ice cold grip. Enjolras had changed so dramatically since the moment he started working for Javert that Combeferre sometimes wasn't even sure what kept him going.

The revolutionary spirit that had drawn Combeferre to Enjolras, the unmistakeable sense of right or wrong had always inspired Combeferre and the drive and passion behind Enjolras' words had always been his guiding light. That light had vanished and Combeferre – who was so good at guiding people himself – felt utterly lost without Enjolras and struggled not to loose his faith as well. If it wasn't for Courfeyrac...

Sighing, Combeferre put on his glasses again and leaned forward to press a soft kiss to Enjolras' temple, without waking him up. He tugged his friend in a little tighter and left the bedroom, the door only leaned against the lock to give Enjolras the opportunity to call for them if need be.

Combeferre made a short stop in the bathroom to get rid of his working cloths – in his mind still smelling of blood and antiseptic although he had put them on fresh out of the locker before leaving – and looked at his reflection in the mirror. Tired, worried, overworked. But not now, tomorrow he could crash, tomorrow he could rest, but now there was one more person to care for.

Wearing comfortable sweatpants and a tight shirt – the blue one with his university's crest on that Courfeyrac loved so much – he went to the kitchen, got some water and joined Courfeyrac in the living room. He had switched the telly on and was huddled up in the corner of the sofa, legs drawn to his chest, arms wrapped around them, chin resting on his knees. Combeferre knew that look. Normally Courfeyrac would sprawl over the whole sofa, but today he was worried and sad and stressed and so curled up in himself.

“What are you watching?”, he asked and slumped down next to him, making sure to sound casual and soothing while he wrapped both arms around his boyfriend, tugging him into his lap and peppering kisses over his neck and cheek.

Courfeyrac turned in his arms and tried to crawl inside Combeferre – or so it seemed. He ended up completely on his lap, legs tugged under Combeferre's left arm, his arms folded against Combeferre's chest and his hands curled into the fabric of Combeferre's shirt. While the advertisement for a new fitness studio chain rambled on, Courfeyrac sighed deep and grumbled into his skin: “I can take a lot and I _love_ to be there for my friends... you know I do...”

“I know, Darling, of course I know.”, murmured Combeferre and kissed Courfeyrac's forehead.

“Of course you do.”, echoed Courfeyrac weakly and raised his head. His face was strained and worried while he continued: “But Ferre, the things he said today...”

“Tell me.”, prompted Combeferre quietly because he knew that was what Courfeyrac needed.

“Well, basically it was all the same.”, sighed Courfeyrac and kissed Combeferre's nose, “He kept repeating himself. How bad a person he was, how much he deserved to be pushed away, to be denied love, after what he had done. That Grantaire was right to send him away, he deserved nothing more after the letter. How stupid and selfish and bad he is. How _we_ could be friends with him. How we could _stand_ to be around him. Why we didn't just leave him because sooner or later he would hurt us beyond repair too.”

Combeferre patted his back and swallowed hard. This sounded so much of the young Grantaire that it hurt Combeferre to see the roles of these two reversed so much. On the one hand he was glad that he had not had to hear those words live and accompanied with sobs, on the other he wished that he had been there to contradict Enjolras. He turned his head and kissed Courfeyrac's temple, coaxing him into telling him how much he knew of what had happened. And Courfeyrac spilled because he needed to get everything off his chest.

After about half an hour, Combeferre had a rough idea of what had happened and understood now how Enjolras had ended up like this. Courfeyrac seemed to do better as well because he uncurled from Combeferre's lap and got up to switch on some lights as it had gotten dark outside.

“You'll need to talk to him tomorrow.”, sighed Courfeyrac and sat down again, not on Combeferre's lap but next to him, taking his hand to entwine their fingers.

“Why?”, asked Combeferre surprised because the urgency in his boyfriend's words startled him.

“Because I am good for listening and consoling, but you are the one he will need to find his course again.”, lectured Courfeyrac with a fond smile and leaned over to kiss Combeferre softly.

“I don't know what to do either. I... this is too complicated.”, groaned Combeferre and leaned back. Courfeyrac grabbed the water bottle and handed it to his boyfriend, smiling softly. While Combeferre drank, Courfeyrac murmured: “You never tell the people what to do and yet they always know what they should do after talking to you.”

“Flatterer.”, smiled Combeferre and looped his arm around Courfeyrac's shoulders while they settled into the sofa, turning their attention to the telly where the newsreader welcomed them for the late night news. They were just a little distracted with the other's lips while the first few topics rolled over the screen when suddenly Combeferre saw a flash of red on white out of the corner of his eyes and turned his head to the telly, Courfeyrac's lips brushing his cheek while he chased Combeferre's lips.

“You could just say if you're tired of...”

“Shush.”, made Combeferre whose eyes got wider and wider the more he saw. Courfeyrac turned his attention also to the telly, sucking in his breath when he got aware of the picture next to newsreader: a photo of the cathedral of Montmatre, looming over green hills, two stairs leading up to the white building. And on the right set of stairs were red letters, glinting bright against the fair stone of the stairs. Courfeyrac turned his attention to the word of the newsreader.

“The police confirmed that the colour used for this protest action is the same colour as used for defacing other historical and public sights all over Paris over the last week. This defacing action against the cathedral is but one in a series of protest actions against the so called sexual equalisation act that will be put to vote to the National Assembly in the following week. As all the other scrawls all over Paris, this conveys a critical position opposing the current political situation in France. The quote of an unknown critique is not as closely connected to the topic as the previous ones and reads as following: _And that state of mind is the illness that gnaws on the flesh of our country. There are a few people in the top ranks of our country who grope at everything that's golden and shiny. They sit on top and do not worry for anything but their own enrichment. They have no eyes for their fellow people. As long as they get rich, they won't look beyond the edge of their plate. What happens to the rest of the country is not their concern as long as they're getting richer._ The police asks all citizens who have seen suspicious activities around Montmatre in the past night to call the following hotline...”

Combeferre turned slowly to Courfeyrac and saw the recognition dawning in his dark eyes while he turned back to Combeferre. They both had heard these words first hand, just a few nights ago. Enjolras had muttered them on the vernissage, just before Grantaire and Jehan had joined them. And while so many bits and pieces slotted into place in Combeferre's brain, Courfeyrac gasped: “They were at the vernissage...”

Combeferre cleared his throat and tried to fight down his surprise and shock – and his happy thrill – before he said: “I think they _hosted_ the vernissage.”

“What?”, squeaked Courfeyrac and his eyes grew even wider, his face turning pale.

“Think about it.”, ordered Combeferre quietly and leaned in closer to spread out his thoughts for Courfeyrac, “It does make sense, doesn't it? The protest group used stone-old pictures and works from Enjolras. And they surfaced in the week we got the invitation. Enjolras never owned the photo of him at that rally and kept the draft of the pamphlet on a USB drive in his drawer. There was only ever one person who got to see the draft besides me... Grantaire. And he was the photographer for the school paper back in lycée which explains how he got the photo: he had taken it. And then the usage of the colour... I mean, come on, how blind have we been? Studies in Scarlet? And the colour of the protest...”

“So you mean...?”, stuttered Courfeyrac, his eyes flickering between Combeferre's, “He used those protest action to also get Enjolras' attention. Hell, he even used Enjolras' favourite colour! No... he knew he would get it and counted on Enjolras to still think the way he thought in lycée and try to join the protest. But he didn't. So he invited him to the vernissage.”

“Where he heard the quote he used now.”, added Combeferre, both their brains working in unison now, piecing together the jicksaw puzzle that lay in front of them.

“Yes, but why not use the quote earlier?”, asked Courfeyrac, excited all of a sudden, “And now Jehan's insisting interest in our sexuality on the way to that club is explained as well, he wanted to involve us in the protest too.”

“But we didn't jump at the bait.”, mused Combeferre, “That's why they put out an even more obvious hint.”

“The quote by Enjolras.”, closed Courfeyrac and shook his head while Combeferre facepalmed himself.

“Antiseptic, my ass!”, he exclaimed hoarsely and sat up straighter.

“What?”, asked Courfeyrac confused and furrowed his brows.

“Joly's hands this morning...”, explained Combeferre eagerly, taking Courfeyrac's hand in his, “They were splattered with red paint. He told me it was antiseptic from his work as a volunteer at an animal shelter while he scrubbed it off. I bet he's been helping Grantaire tonight.”

“And that also explains why Jehan threw Enjolras out.”, concluded Courfeyrac, smiling all of a sudden, “It doesn't mean Grantaire doesn't want him. Jehan had not been in on this project because it was too closely related with Enjolras for his taste. But Grantaire wanted to rub it in his face now that he was sure Enjolras still loves him. And Jehan was furious about it, probably found out about it and threw Enjolras out. I don't think he knew how much influence he would have on Enjolras, I think he was just furious.”

“And now Grantaire waits desperately for Enjolras to react, who can't, because Jehan's words have nearly shattered him.”, sighed Combeferre and rubbed his face with both hands.

“Shit, this is all so complicated.”, groaned Courfeyrac and slumped back against the sofa, “Why couldn't they just talk about it, make up their minds and protest together afterwards? Why all this secretiveness? Why all those schemes?”

“Please don't ask me.”, begged Combeferre into the hollow of his hands, “My brain feels like deep fried and I honestly can't answer you this question right now.”

“We can't do anything about it now anyway.”, sighed Courfeyrac and now leaned over to hug Combeferre, “It's nearly eleven and we should probably get some sleep. Do you think Enjolras' bed will be wide enough for the both of us?”

“You are like a constrictor snake in bed, I hardly think any bed can be too narrow for us.”, chuckled Combeferre and leaned over to kiss Courfeyrac.

“Your sense of humour is terrible when you're tired.”

 

*

 

Enjolras was bothered by the worried glances Courfeyrac shot him over the edge of his laptop screen ever ten seconds. It had been a hard piece of work to persuade Courfeyrac to let him go to work today. It had felt like a very bizarre reversal of a parent-child conversation about not having to go to school – only that Enjolras was the child, desperately wanting to go and Courfeyrac refusing to let him.

Finally Enjolras had gotten his way and had dragged Courfeyrac out of the flat, his friend muttering the whole way to himself that Combeferre – who had the day off – would probably murder him as soon as he found out that he had allowed Enjolras to work after latter had had probably numerous breakdowns the day before.

Now they were working in silence, Enjolras trying to focus while his head was still too full of worries and the pain clawing at his heart. Maybe it hadn't been the best idea to go to work after all, but Enjolras would never admit that – to anyone.

He had waited all day yesterday for Grantaire to call, still waited for him to show up and tell him that Jehan had lied, that Grantaire needed him and wanted him back in his life. But he had not done that, there was silence between them. And maybe for the better. Enjolras was tired and suppressed a deep sigh, knowing that he was still too pale and his eyes were swollen and red from crying yesterday. And that he wouldn't admit to anyone too.

When he had woken up, he had sworn himself to forget about this foolish longing, about this unrequited love that would never be. He had forced himself to believe that Grantaire had moved on, that he loved Jehan now and had only stilled a bodily craving for Enjolras that night. That it had meant nothing to either of them, that it had only been a warmed-over memory that both of them needed to get out of their heads rather sooner than later.

“Ah, Monsieur Enjolras, there you are.”, said Javert from the door and strode over, as if he had been searching for Enjolras all day and couldn't find him, although he had not left his desk since he had come in this morning.

“Good morning, Monsieur.”, greeted Enjolras and Courfeyrac nodded at their boss.

“Would you please come to my office with me, we have to discuss something.”, said Javert cryptically and turned on his heels, expecting Enjolras to follow on the foot. But Enjolras' first reaction was to panic a little because he didn't know what was going on. He shot a glance at Courfeyrac, hoping that he would tell him that Javert had not found out about him missing yesterday but his friend just looked back, equally worried.

So Enjolras left his desk and followed Javert to his own office, down the hall. Javert already sat behind his desk, grey hair glimmering in the light of the early June sun that shone through the window to his right. Several files lay all over his desk and Enjolras saw in some of them his own handwriting. Javert glanced up and motioned to the door.

“Close the door, please. Then take a seat.”, he ordered and flipped over some pages before looking at Enjolras who sat down at the edge of the chair opposite of his boss, his heart drumming fast in his chest. Javert scrutinized him for a moment and Enjolras was sure he was going to ask about the state he was in – pale, red eyes, deep shadows under said eyes, hair sticking out in places, untameable after the stress the day before, lips a hard, white line – but gulped down the question and folded his hands instead.

“The red file is your case.”, said Javert and pointed with his chin to a red folder directly in front of Enjolras. He dropped his eyes to the folder and tried to remember on which case he had worked for Javert that was in a red folder, racking his brains because he couldn't remember, feeling panic rise in his throat.

“Monsieur Enjolras...”, said Javert quietly and Enjolras looked up, wide eyed to find his boss with something of a smirk on his lips, “This is no case you have been working on for anyone, stop worrying. This is the first case you will work on... for yourself.”

Enjolras' heart stopped. First case? First own case? Since when did he get to work on cases? Courfeyrac was the one who got the occasional small case because Valjean had found a willing companion in him but Enjolras? Enjolras never got cases, never ever.

“May I...”, started Enjolras and cleared his throat, hearing how rough his voice sounded after the shock, “May I ask why I got assigned to this case?”

“Because it is a very difficult matter.”, answered Javert without thinking and Enjolras was sure he had rehearsed this conversation, as he rehearsed nearly everything in his life at least twice before doing it, “It is a case of politically brisance and various of our most successful lawyers, including myself and Valjean, have already given statements to the press that have shown our own personal point of view rather vividly. And I want this case to be handled by a lawyer without any prejudice or previous involvement in the case.”

“I see.”, said Enjolras bleakly and kept watching Javert who pushed the file closer to him.

“This case was given to me by the secretary of the prime minister himself with the plea for immediate and subtle handling. And I trust you are capable of fulfilling all those demands.”, declared Javert and gave Enjolras one of his rare, encouraging smiles.

“I... I feel honoured, Monsieur.”, stuttered Enjolras, feeling his head swimming by everything he had just learned.

“You should be.”, reinforced Javert and pushed a sheet of paper to him again, “This is the fee the government is willing to pay if you win the case.”

Enjolras picked up the sheet and turned it around, glancing down on the numbers. He couldn't help his jaw falling open and making a strangled sound. The number on the sheet was beyond his wildest dreams of ever receiving a fee. He could buy a house in the first arrondissement from that and have enough left to open up his own law firm with Courfeyrac _and_ donate a vast amount to the research foundation Combeferre always wanted to establish. This sum was sheer madness.

“There has been an arrest in this case yesterday night, everything is enclosed in your file.”, said Javert who seemed to dismiss Enjolras with that, “I suggest you get to work. The first hearing will be in two days, I assume you will be worked in by that time?”

“Of course, Monsieur.”, Enjolras jumped up and nodded eagerly, grabbing the file, “I will be ready by then. Thank you, Monsieur, I will not disappoint you.”

“You better not.”, said Javert, already nose-deep in another file, “The firm can't afford loosing this case, Monsieur Enjolras. I would be rather disappointed to draw the consequences of this case lost.”

Enjolras knew that this was a threat but thought better than to react to it. He scrambled up from the chair and darted out of the office, down the hall and banged the door to their shared office, the file pressed against his chest.

“Geez, what's wrong with you?”, asked Courfeyrac surprised and worried and was already half out of his chair when Enjolras flopped down on his.

“I just got assigned to a case.”, answered Enjolras in an airy voice.

“You...? What...?”, asked Courfeyrac, wide eyed and as surprised as Enjolras. It was not like he didn't think Enjolras was suited to handle a case, it was just so unlike for Javert to give him a case that he was equally startled as Enjolras had been.

“It's been given to him by the prime minister's secretary himself.”, stated Enjolras and grabbed two fist full of his hair, tugging slightly while he could not succeed to fight down the panic all together.

“Don't take the piss out of me, Enj. Tell me this hasn't dropped from the highest desk of the government into your lap!”, whelped Courfeyrac, leaning back and clasping a hand over his mouth.

“A case of politically brisance is what Javert said.”, recapitulated Enjolras hollow and tore his eyes from the file on his desk to look at Courfeyrac who was beaming proudly at him.

“Enj, this is amazing!”, he smiled then, “This could be your chance, you know that, don't you? If you win that case, all doors will be open to you.”

“Yes.”, said Enjolras quietly and tossed the paper at Courfeyrac which held the sum of his fee, “And that's the fee I'm going to get for winning.”

“Sweet Mary mother of Jesus!”, whispered Courfeyrac when he saw the sum, not able to tear his eyes from it.

“This means we can quit our jobs here and start new.”, smiled Enjolras while his hands shook from adrenaline and excitement, “We can open our law firm and I can fund Combeferre's dream of founding that research foundation...”

“And from what is left after that you could still buy an island in the Caribbean!”, laughed Courfeyrac thrilled and came around the desk to hug Enjolras, “This is so great, Enj, you earned it!”

“Thank you.”, exhaled Enjolras, his head dizzy from the thrill of this case, his face unable to stop grinning.

“Come on, let's look at this case of yours.”, smiled Courfeyrac and dragged his desk chair around to sit down next to Enjolras, “Maybe I can ask Valjean to release me from the research I'm doing so that I can help you?”

“That would be wonderful.”, smiled Enjolras and patted Courfeyrac's knee before flipping open the file.

His eyes scanned the first page, a note from the prime minister that stated what Javert had already told him. He put the page to the side and caught a glimpse of the report about the arrest, a small photo of the arrested attached at the corner by a paper clip. Enjolras' heart stopped and he felt like throwing up immediately.

“Oh my god...”, whispered Courfeyrac, his eyes fixed to the photo of Grantaire, clipped to the corner of the page, “Oh! My! God! Oh _shit_ , no...”

Enjolras started rifling through the pages, searching for something that would tell him this was a mistake, that this was a bad joke, a nightmare. But it wasn't. Grantaire was facing a charge for defacing and violating public property and historical sights all over Paris and for incitement of the people by spreading radical pamphlets. He obviously was the leader of a revolutionary group called Les Amis de l'ABC – Enjolras nearly blacked out when he saw the pun he had made back in lycée written on the page with the charges – who had been staging different protest actions all over the country with its climax in the Parisian actions.

“This can't be true.”, half-sobbed Courfeyrac while he flipped through the pages that had fallen from Enjolras' fingers, photographs of the graffitis, copies of the pamphlet, various other things like samples of the paint used for the graffitis and the paint used for Grantaire's paintings, chemical analysis that stated that it was exact the same paint, a witnesses' statement that she had seen Grantaire in Montmatre on the evening of the latest graffiti, a written quote Enjolras had not even seen yet and that nearly gave him a heart attack.

And he had been blind. Oh, how blind Enjolras had been! Grantaire had taken the photo back in lycée, Grantaire had kept the draft of his pamphlet because Grantaire kept everything he ever wrote, Grantaire and Jehan had drilled them with questions about their sexuality at the evening they went to that club, Grantaire had created a whole work series using scarlet paint, the same colour the graffitis were in, Enjolras' favourite colour. Enjolras had been blind and a fool and he couldn't believe that he had not seen the pattern.

“What are we going to do?”, asked Courfeyrac, his voice a few octaves higher than usually, staring wide eyed at Enjolras, “Enj, what are we going to do?!”

Enjolras gulped and returned the wide eyed stare... and felt fury and hurt bubble up in his chest. He could have told him. He could have called and told him that he was staging a protest. He could have come to him if he wanted him to participate in the protest. He could have just asked without all this secrecy and schemes. He had used him, exploited him, plaid with him. He had toyed with his feelings, had manipulated him into running to him, succumbing to him the way he wanted him to, then he had made his boyfriend push Enjolras away. And now he had been caught. And now it was Enjolras' decision what would happen to him.

Enjolras slowly closed the file and looked at Courfeyrac, his face stern and set while his heartbeat calmed down. He gulped against the bile in his throat and willed his voice to sound calm and controlled when he said: “We will start by getting an overview over the legal situation and the usual proceedings regarding defacing and violating of public property, then we will tackle the part with the incitement of the people and will look up related cases.”

“What?”, gasped Courfeyrac and glared at Enjolras, “Don't tell me you are thinking about working that case?!”

“Javert gave it to me.”, said Enjolras and felt the cool wave of offence wash through him and clear his head.

“Enjolras, if you work on that case, you will fight for those who try to invade your privacy, your freedom to be with whoever you want to be.”, said Courfeyrac forcefully and leaned towards him, “Not even to mention that you will condemn the man you love to a prison sentence!”

“I don't love him.”, said Enjolras and hated how his voice broke on the last two words.

Courfeyrac leaned back shocked and shook his head at Enjolras, his skin ashen and his eyes filled with a deep sadness that cut deeper than a scornful word would. While he still shook his head slowly, Courfeyrac whispered: “You don't mean that, I know you, Enj. You don't mean that.”

“Listen.”, said Enjolras, struggling for control while his voice shook just a little, “You can either help me and work on the case with me or you can go back to the research for Valjean. That is your decision. But respect that I have made mine.”

Courfeyrac kept watching him for a moment, then he got up and pushed his chair back behind his own desk. But he did not sit down, he rather reached down and took his bag, starting to stuff his personal belongings in said bag without looking at Enjolras again.

“What are you doing?”, asked Enjolras confused and grabbed the frame with the picture of Combeferre and Courfeyrac during their last vacation in Italy. Courfeyrac raised his head and looked heartbroken at Enjolras while he kept a hold on the frame as well.

“Do you think I would want to work in a law firm that strives to cut down my own personal freedom? A firm that wants me to state that I am in love with the most beautiful and brilliant man I know only to be discriminated by employers from then on? Do you think I am able to sit here and watch you work for those who put those restrictions on us? Do you think I want to watch you working to lock the man you love up in the pen?”, he asked and watched Enjolras carefully who found no words, then shook his head again and wrung the frame from Enjolras' fingers, “No, I'm not going to do that. I'll go to Javert right now and hand in my notice of dismissal. I'm done here.”

Stuffing the box of tissue as the last item into his bag, Courfeyrac flung it over his shoulder and stared at Enjolras, waiting for a reaction from him. Enjolras saw him gulp and heard his voice waver as he asked: “Are you coming with me?”

Enjolras watched Courfeyrac's hopeful eyes, the desperate hope that Enjolras had to shatter because he couldn't go. He wouldn't go with him. He would work this case and show that he was no one one could play with, one could bend into obedience. He would work and win this case to show everyone that he was a capable lawyer who could hold his emotions out of his work.

“No, Courf, I'm sorry. I'll work this case.”, he answered and was surprised how calm he sounded.

Courfeyrac pressed his lips into a hard line, dropped his head and hurried out of the office without another look or word for Enjolras. When the door closed behind him, all strength left Enjolras' body and he slumped down on the desk, face buried in his arms.

What had he done to deserve all of this? Why was he being punished like that? First Grantaire's refusal, now Courfeyrac's disappointment and piled on top of that Javert's expectations of him. He had no choice in this matter, if he refused to take the case, Javert would fire him and he would never again get a foot in the door. He would never open his own law firm. And with the fee he could do that. Enjolras didn't want to think about what he had to sacrifice for his future...

He raised his head from his arms and rubbed his face thoroughly before settling down. He got back to the file and sorted through the papers, making piles for the different parts of the charge to get a system behind his approach. This was only the fist hearing and the judge would just expect him to reflect on the act, to sketch out the crime and to sum up what he expected the sentence to be. He could do that in two days, for the main trial he had to go into depth.

Enjolras left aside every personal feeling he had to that case, after a while he even failed to recognize himself or his friends in the graffitis he looked at from time to time. He would handle this like a professional and so Enjolras did not even recognize how time flew by until Valjean opened the door to his office.

“Monsieur Enjolras, it's half past six, I'd recommend you go home now.”, he said gently and smiled, leaving the door open while he left himself.

Enjolras looked onto his watch and recognized that he really had worked away the day with investigations and looking up of precedents. He decided to call it a day and packed up the files and folders, heading out of the office a moment later. He took a taxi, quite contrary from his usual habit, but with all the paperwork he didn't want to take the metro.

He climbed up the stairs to their flat and unlocked the door, sliding in before Lamarque could dart out. But it was not their dog who ambushed him.

The files flew in every direction, the folders thumped onto the floor and the air left his lungs in a rush as he was nailed back against the door in a furious attack. The lower arm pressed square over his collarbones made breathing difficult and his ears rang while Combeferre shouted: “Tell me you didn't agree to take this case!”

“Ferre!”, squeaked Courfeyrac behind him and tried to drag him away. Combeferre had ambushed Enjolras and had nailed him to the door, his right lower arm pressed over his chest, the other fisting into the fabric of Enjolras' button-down, pushing him back even more. He was steaming with fury, his eyes glinted fierce behind his glasses and his face was red and a mask of anger, his face only a few centimetres away from Enjolras' who stared up at him nearly a little frightened.

“ _Fucking tell me_ you didn't take it!”, yelled Combeferre and thumped Enjolras against the door once more.

“Let him go!”, demanded Courfeyrac afraid and tugged at his arm but Combeferre just threw him off with a quick jerk of his shoulder. While his hand was away, Enjolras was able to push him off and backed away from him by stepping around him. He didn't know what to say, he had never seen Combeferre so angry and was uncertain about what to do.

“You can't even think of working that case! Are you out of your mind?”, shouted Combeferre and pursued Enjolras who backed away, bringing the sofa between him and Combeferre as a precaution because he did not know how to handle a furious Combeferre because a furious Combeferre had never before been a part of his life.

“Calm down, Ferre.”, tried Enjolras to regain at least a little control over the situation, but Combeferre did not think of obeying him.

“I won't, not this time. Not now! Tell me that you didn't take that case! Tell me you did the reasonable thing and quit like Courfeyrac did!”, hissed Combeferre, grabbing the backrest while he stared at Enjolras.

Enjolras saw how pale he was, how dark the shadows were under his eyes and how tired he looked. He faintly remembered that there had been a mass-crash the day before which Combeferre had had to deal with and he remembered Courfeyrac telling him that he worked too long and was checking on Enjolras late into the night yesterday. Not all this fury was actual fury but exhaustion and overstrained nerves, Enjolras concluded. But nevertheless, Combeferre was furious.

“I didn't quit.”, said Enjolras and tried to be as calm as possible.

“You idiot!”, spat Combeferre and hit the backrest with both fists, “Why are you doing this, Enj? Why? It is everything you ever stood against! It is everything you always resented! Why are you doing this for god's sake!?”

Enjolras could not answer for every answer was swimming away from him as soon as he reached out for it. All he could do was stare at Combeferre who grew more and more furious by the silence that Enjolras maintained.

“You will put him to jail, you will rob him of his freedom! Hell, you will rob _us_ of our freedom! You will take away your personal freedom! Tell me why you are doing this, just give me one good reason why you are doing this!”, ranted Combeferre and straightened up, fighting his fury back a little.

Enjolras opened his mouth and tried to speak but every reason he had had vanished into smoke because the thought of pronouncing them made them sound wrong and Enjolras was starting to freeze, his palms sweaty.

“Is it the money, huh?”, snapped Combeferre when Enjolras failed to answer, “Is it the sum they offered you? Are you as bribable as all the politicians you always resented so much? Are you forgetting your own values when you see something blink golden from afar? Are you turning into the people you hated with as much intensity as you loved Grantaire?”

“Leave him out of this.”, hissed Enjolras, raising a threatening finger at Combeferre – who exploded.

“Leave him out of this? How the bloody hell should I be able to leave him out of this?! You are working for the people who want to lock him away, by taking that case you are COMDEMNING HIM TO PRISON!”, shouted Combeferre and went around the sofa, Enjolras carefully minding that he kept the whole piece of furniture between them. He only recognized as a side note that Courfeyrac was lingering in the background, pale and probably as frightened as Enjolras was.

“That will the judge do, not me.”, clipped Enjolras who saw no other way to answer. And it had been the wrong way.

“Get out!”, cried Combeferre, his face red and veins showing clearly through the skin on his neck, “Get the fuck out of here!”

“Ferre...”, started Courfeyrac and went a few strides to him but Combeferre just whirled around and snapped: “Shut the fuck up, Clément, I am talking!”

Enjolras did not wait for him to yell at him more and departed for his room while Combeferre and Courfeyrac got into a loud argument about handling the situation. He reached his room, threw a small suitcase onto the bed and started stuffing things in it. He knew that Combeferre was right, knew that he was rightfully furious, but he couldn't give in and admit that he was wrong. He had never been wrong and Combeferre had never criticized him, except that one time that had somehow led to this whole muddle.

He packed only the most basic things until he heard a door bang – Combeferre's and Courfeyrac's bedroom door. He emerged from his room, a light red jacket over his arm and the suitcase in the other hand.

Courfeyrac was lingering in the living room, pale and stressed, eyes red rimmed from uncried tears. He caught a look at Enjolras' set face and his face sagged while he came hurrying towards him.

“Please don't go, Enj, don't go now.”, pleaded Courfeyrac and his voice was vibrating from tears.

“He told me to.”, said Enjolras and hunkered down, stuffing files and folders into the bag he had brought along.

“He is not himself. There was a school bus in the crash yesterday... this one girl's injury was too... he's still coping with that... he's... he's...”, stuttered Courfeyrac who tried to reason with both of them to behave but failed miserably.

“I just get these files and then I'm gone.”, said Enjolras and straightened up. Courfeyrac stood behind him, insecure – for the first time he knew him – and totally overtaxed with the situation. Enjolras sighed deeply and ground his teeth while thinking what was the right thing to say. He could admit that he was wrong, that this was wrong, that he could not work the case because Combeferre was right and he was working against everything he believed him.

But Grantaire had played with him. Grantaire had used him and had mocked him. Grantaire had seduced him and cast him off. Grantaire did not want to talk, he wanted to satisfy his needs and drop him afterwards. Grantaire didn't want him back. And if he was completely honest, Enjolras understood that he had no right to expect him to want him back, not after what he had done all those years ago.

Enjolras looked at Courfeyrac and sighed deeply, shaking his head to himself. There was no way back, he wanted to be a successful lawyer, so he had to make a name for himself. And this would only work if he would win a case of big political importance – which this case was. So he would work the case, would win it and live with the consequences. With all of them.

“I am sorry, Courf.”, sighed Enjolras and opened the door to leave, Courfeyrac's desperate calls of his name in his ears until he was out of the house. Enjolras did not stop walking, kept walking until his lungs burned and his hands ached from carrying the files in one and the suitcase in the other. He stopped walking only when he stood in front of a small house in the outskirts, the dusk cloaking him in soft darkness.

He put suitcase and folders down and straightened up again, ringing the doorbell. It was a nice bell, a nice door, a nice house. And he had worked hard to buy it. He had grown up in an orphanage south of Paris after his parents had died when he was only a small boy. He had always worked, Enjolras did not remember one moment when he hadn't worked hard. And he finally had gotten what his hard working lifestyle deserved: a house, a job as a junior CEO and a family consisting of Enjolras, Combeferre and Courfeyrac.

Enjolras sat down on the stairs leading to the front door because Feuilly was obviously not at home yet. It was normal that he was working late, his job required it sometimes. So Enjolras would wait. His thoughts returned to his friend.

There was only one piece to be found that would complete Feuilly's life and would make him truly and utterly happy: a partner. Feuilly was bisexual which somehow made it harder for him to find someone – he always said. Enjolras knew that this was only an excuse because Feuilly always felt inadequate for any person he met, he had far too high demands of himself.

Enjolras remembered the look in Feuilly's eyes when he had met Bahorel on Sunday, how he paled, how he stuttered, how he blushed. Maybe this time he would not feel inadequate, maybe this time he would trust in his abilities of making a person happy, about truly being the one they wanted to be with. Somehow, Enjolras thought Feuilly and Bahorel were a perfect match, both were committed to their job, both cared so much for their fellow people, both only wanted the best for others, willing to put their happiness behind the happiness of others.

But maybe this time it would work out, Enjolras thought. They had seemed so close already when he had intruded in Grantaire's hotel room. Maybe this time it would work out for Feuilly. Enjolras did not want to think what working the case meant for Feuilly's and Bahorel's future...

About half an hour later, Enjolras heard footsteps on the pavement and lifted his head from his hands, staring down the street. Feuilly came striding to him, a briefcase in one hand, the other pressing his mobile against his ear. He was pale, his auburn curls were tousled and his eyes seemed frantic. After a few more strides, he saw Enjolras and came into earshot.

“He's here... Yes, at my place. I'll handle this. Stay were you are, Ferre needs you more. I'll call. Yes, Courf... yes. No, I'm fine. Really... Yes, I'll call. Bye.”, muttered Feuilly and hung up as soon as he stood in front of Enjolras.

“We were worried.”, he said instead of a greeting.

“I wondered if I could stay with you.”, said Enjolras and was shocked how fragile his voice sounded.

Feuilly sighed deeply and took in his whole appearance, then he extended a hand to Enjolras to help him to his feet.

“Of course you can.”, he said fondly and picked up Enjolras' suitcase. Enjolras followed like a faithful puppy, pushing back the thoughts what Feuilly was thinking about him working the case. Feuilly carried Enjolras' bag into the guest room and excused himself into his bedroom to get changed into something more comfortable.

Enjolras was unsure of what to do so he did what he could do best: he started working. When Feuilly came into the guest room, Enjolras had spread out the whole file concerning Grantaire's case over the floor and sat cross-legged between piles of papers with photos, notes, records and transcripts. He had propped his elbows onto his knees and his chin rested in his hands while his eyes flicked over the papers in front of him.

Feuilly sighed and shook his head. Courfeyrac had called him an hour ago, as close to a breakdown as Feuilly had never heard him. Combeferre had – by the sounds of it – lost it after the whole stress of the last week and had yelled – Feuilly couldn't believe that Combeferre was even able to _raise_ his voice – at Enjolras which had resulted in throwing him out of the flat.

Feuilly had agreed with Courfeyrac that there was no way to reconcile Enjolras with Combeferre the same day because Combeferre had locked himself up and Enjolras had fled – a sure sign that they needed their time apart. They had also agreed to keep in touch and inform each other about what was going on. And Feuilly had made up his mind to try to speak with Enjolras again about working the case. He had not lost faith in his friend that he would do the reasonable thing.

“Hey.”, said Feuilly softly and made Enjolras turn around to look at him. He looked tired and so young that Feuilly had to swallow down a lump of feelings in his throat. “I brought you tea. With milk, right?”

“Yes, thanks Feuilly.”, said Enjolras and took the cup from his friend's hand, carefully sipping from the hot beverage before going back to stare at the papers.

Feuilly sat down outside the circle of piles. Enjolras looked up a little startled while Feuilly drew his legs to his chest, wrapped one arm around them and placed his mug on one of his his knees, securing it from falling with the other hand.

“So...”, he started and was astonished how hard Enjolras cut him off: “Quit it, Feuilly, I'm not having another one dress me down for my decisions!”

Feuilly blinked surprised at the blond lawyer while he tugged an unruly curl behind one ear and took a sip of tea to get back to work.

“I didn't mean to dress you down... or argue. I just wanted to ask how you are doing?”, stated Feuilly calmly and cocked his head at Enjolras – whose turn it was now to be surprised.

“I'm f...”, started Enjolras but bit his lip after pronouncing the first letter. It was his usual reply, that he was fine and Feuilly was no fool, he knew that it was reflex. So Enjolras sighed and settled for the truth instead: “So tired. And... and confused... I don't know...”

He fell silent and stared at the photo of Grantaire a few moments after his arresting. His thoughts swirled through his head and he was not sure how to get any order in them. When he looked up, Feuilly was watching him carefully, waiting for any kind of reaction. When none came, he sighed and offered: “I'm a good listener. If you want to... you know... maybe saying it out loud will help you to get your thoughts sorted?!”

“Maybe...”, sighed Enjorlas and took another sip, trying to find words that would make Feuilly understand. Feuilly was a good friend because he waited for Enjolras several minutes without looking away or seeming annoyed as Enjolras thought.

“If I ever want to be of any help for the oppressed, I need to make a name for myself.”, said Enjolras quietly and looked up at Feuilly whose face remained blank, “This case... it offers me the opportunity to make a name for myself. And with the fee I will be able to help. I could help so many people.”

“I see.”, said Feuilly and took a sip, his eyes darting over his carpeted floor while he gathered words, “And with any other case, I would agree whole-heartedly with you that this is the best way. But this is no normal case, Enjolras.”

“I know.”, sighed the blond and shook his head, “But a lawyer should not be lead by emotions. They should be lead by what is right, by the law.”

“I agree.”, said Feuilly again but cocked his head, “But may I ask what is right in this moment?”

Enjolras looked up confused and scanned Feuilly's features carefully. Feuilly was waiting for him to answer so he took a deep breath and said carefully: “The legal situation states that violation of public property and rousing the people is to be put under penalty.”

“I did not ask for the legal situation, I want to know what you think is right.”, prompted Feuilly and Enjolras sighed deeply and rubbed his eyes with one hand.

“I... I can't answer this question... I... that would mean involving personal... opinion.”, stuttered Enjolras, refraining from the path Feuilly wanted to lead him down.

“Correct me if I'm wrong.”, said Feuilly quietly and narrowed his eyebrows, “But isn't it rather... careless... to handle a case which goes in the completely different direction than your own opinion? Will you be able to win this case if you don't believe in what you fight for?”

Enjolras wound under Feuilly's gaze because he was right and Enjolras could not say that he was wrong. He hated the act, hated what it meant for people, but he would defend it because Javert had asked it of him. He would win the case and would so win for those he wanted to fight. It was a muddle and Enjolras felt deep inside how something stirred within him, something he hadn't felt in a long while. When he looked up, Feuilly was smiling softly.

“Let me tell you another thing you might not have thought about.”, said Feuilly and sat his empty mug down, his eyes darting round the room while he was fitting the thought into words, “You are a great lawyer and there is no doubt that you will win the case. You will get the fee and you will be able to open up your own law firm. You will want to help the oppressed. But Enjolras... do you think any of them will come to you for help after you put someone in jail who was fighting for them?”

Enjolras' head snapped up and he saw the smallest hint of a smug grin on Feuilly's features. He had never thought about it this way, the whole component had slipped his mind. Unfortunately, Feuilly gave him no time to think about it as he went on: “Which brings me to the subject of the case... Enjolras, do you love R?”

The question was plane and simple, only demanding a simple answer, one word that Enjolras felt on his tongue while he watched Feuilly watching him. When he did not answer, Feuilly sighed.

“All right, you don't have to answer if you don't want to, that's fine. And I understand that you feel hurt that he used your face and writing for his protest but... Enjolras, don't you think he... he just wanted to show you that he was still fighting the fight you begun all those years ago? Don't you think he did this because he wanted to show you how much he still loves you?”

“He made Jehan throw me out after spending the night with me.”, spat Enjolras, his blood pulsing in his ears again.

“Jehan threw you out, Enjolras.”, corrected Feuilly mildly, “And to be 100% honest with you: if I had been in his position, I would have done the same.”

“What?”, gasped Enjolras and nearly knocked over his tea, getting a grip on it in the last second.

“He told you what R went through, I know because he told me. Just imagine: the person you fell in love with as a teenager meets the love of his life again and basically struggles to restore their relationship. You are afraid that he will be hurting again and you wouldn't want to see him break again. You would want to protect him from himself. Enjolras, Jehan loves R so much, even if they are not in a relationship like other people would be. And that's your fault too.”

“Listen, Feuilly, if you want to start blaming me for...”

“I did not blame you for anything. I just want to make you see that not just R's happiness is at stake if you work this case.”, explained Feuilly carefully and sighed, “Jehan was there for R in his darkest hours, as was Ferre for you. Their bond is stronger than just sex... although they want to make it look like it's not. Jehan... he told me that they tried being a proper couple but that it did not work out. Because R can't... You never had a boyfriend after R. We tried dating but...”, Feuilly smiled sadly and shook his head to himself, “As in R's life, there's no space for another person in your heart. You love him. He loves you. And Jehan and myself have seen it and are happy to be there for you, he in his ways, I in mine. We can accept that you two are made for each other. Why can't you?”

“I...I...”, stuttered Enjolras whose head was swimming again. This was too much, too much to think about while Feuilly was still spitting truths at him. He needed to think, needed to reason, needed to get his head around everything that was swirling through his system now. Feuilly seemed to understand and smiled fondly.

“I think you need to do some thinking.”, he stated plainly and got up, picking up his mug before stepping to Enjolras. He rested a hand on Enjolras' shoulder and bent down to place a quick kiss on his tousled hair. “I'll be in the living room, if you need me.”

And with that Enjolras was left alone with his violently thudding heart and swirling thoughts that threatened to suffocate him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few thoughts on this chapter...
> 
> I have this headcanon of Jehan using old English or Shakespearean insults when he's very very angry. I wanted to include this into the story... I hope it worked not only for me!
> 
> And also another glimpse into the past. I hope now Jehan's motivation for being "cruel" to Enjolras gets a little clearer and less arbitrary.
> 
> This was the second to last chapter of this fic and there was a whole lot going on. Next time you'll get the grande finale and see how all this will work out for les amis...


	5. Chapter 5

The taxi stopped in front of the court of cassation. Enjolras' heart was pounding like mad when he saw the assembled crowd, waiving flags and banners with paroles to free Grantaire, to stop stigmatizing people, to grant everyone their personal freedom. They had assembled outside the fence which enclosed the building and Enjolras dreaded them more than the reporters on the stairs to the left and right of the main stairs. There was anger in the air on this 5th of June and Enjolras was somehow not eager to walk up the stairs to the massive portal under the milk white facade.

He had spent the last two nights and the day in between locked up in Feuilly's guest room, working frantically on his opening summation for the case. He had called Javert and told him that he would work at home for he was able to concentrate better there than in the noisy office. Javert had reluctantly agreed and Enjolras had gotten a good piece of work done before Feuilly returned from work to force him to eat something.

Now he was clad in a black suite, a crisp white button-down and a flaming red tie – all lend from Feuilly and slightly too wide –, his hair held out of his face in a ponytail low in his neck. He was well prepared, everything would work out just fine and was sure now that he would do the right thing. With a new-found calm he paid the driver and got out of the taxi, in one hand the briefcase with his notes, in the other the bag with the evidence he would need for his summation.

With fast, determined steps, Enjolras made his way to the fence in front of which the demonstrators were arguing with security services and supporters of the government. Enjolras did not look left or right while the people were shaming on him, calling him a traitor, swearing at him, threatening him. He did not falter until he heard a voice he knew among the crowd: “How does it feel to condemn the man who loves you to jail?!”

Enjolras stopped and looked to his right. Bousset and Joly were amongst the demonstrators, holding a banner that read FREE R, FREE ARTS. Bousset had shouted at him and Joly tried to calm him down. Enjolras took a step towards them and just asked them: “How did it feel to see me pine for him and doubt myself without telling me that he still loves me?”

Bousset wanted to reply but Joly held him back and Enjolras made his way up the stairs, his head cool and settled while he showed his ID to get into the building. The security waived him through and he stepped into the cool of the old building, buzzing with voices and people. He looked around and saw that there were more supporters of Grantaire than of the government and had to admit that he had not expected that. Then again, this case affected more people than anyone had thought.

Enjolras strode determined into the court room and through the gathering audience in the back to take his place at the left hand table in front of the judge. When his eyes fell on the right table, his heart missed about ten beats. Grantaire sat there already, wearing a black button-down, black trousers and an emerald green tie. He looked pale and tired but kept talking to his lawyer: Courfeyrac.

There was a sharp pang of panic in Enjolras' guts but he knew that he could still do this, even with Courfeyrac as Grantaire's lawyer. He pushed through the swing door and put his stuff down before turning to go over and shake hands with Courfeyrac, a thing he always did when he was working as a lawyer: acknowledge the other side as fellow citizens, not as enemies.

Behind the table of the defence where his friends: Combeferre stood, arms crossed, behind Courfeyrac and listened to their conversation while Jehan held Grantaire's hand over the small obstacle between audience and defendant. He looked anxious and panicky while Grantaire seemed to comfort him. Feuilly and Bahorel were with them, trying to show as much support for Grantaire as possible. Marius and Cosette were accompanying Feuilly and Bahorel and did not know where to look at. They got aware of Enjolras watching them and seemed a little guilty. Feuilly and Bahorel talked to each other while Jehan threw him a glance full of loathing. Combeferre instead sighed and made his way over behind the obstacle.

“Good morning.”, said Enjolras casually when he was standing behind his table.

“I hoped you wouldn't come.”, sighed Combeferre and looked sad at Enjolras.

“I never give in.”, said Enjolras a little sharper than he meant and shot a quick look at Combeferre.

“I know.”, whispered his friend and Enjolras half expected him to leave but Combeferre rubbed his neck a little awkwardly and stated low: “Listen, Enjolras. About that conversation we had before you... ehm... I said a lot of things I didn't mean... I... I'm sorry.”

Enjolras offered a small smile and took Combeferre's shoulder in a reassuring grasp which made his best friend look up.

“I am not mad at you, Ferre.”, said Enjolras softly, “I know that I gave you a lot to worry about in the last two weeks and I am sorry I burdened you so much. I should have known I pushed you too hard with my sulking. I know that I caught you in the middle between me and Grantaire. That was unfair. And I should have been there for you after that crash. I am sorry too.”

Combeferre smiled faintly and shook his head, dropping his eyes while Courfeyrac made his way over to Enjolras, a very nervous look in his eyes. Enjolras settled for civility while he took his hand from Combeferre's shoulder and turned to his other best friend.

“Grantaire could not wish for a better lawyer to defend him.”, said Enjolras and shook the hand fondly that Courfeyrac offered him.

“I wish it hadn't come to this.”, said Courfeyrac low and Enjolras saw tears glint in his dark eyes, “Jehan called and begged me and I couldn't... I couldn't say no to him. I am sorry.”

“It will be fine, trust me.”, assured Enjolras while his eyes flicked to Grantaire.

The young artist was staring at him in disbelieve and Enjolras literally saw his heart shatter into pieces while his hands shook hard. Jehan was whispering to him while Grantaire couldn't take his eyes from Enjolras who was staring back. Enjolras heard the court usher announce the judge and felt the movement around him while everyone got to their seats.

Enjolras held his gaze, kept gazing back even when the judge ascended to his chair and the moment before he spoke up, he cracked a smile and winked at Grantaire. The confusion that raced over Grantaire's features was priceless.

“Please be seated.”, said the judge, an elderly white man with thick glasses and a sharp haircut. Enjolras knew without a second glance that Grantaire would be sentenced to prison, no matter how good Courfeyrac was. This man was just a symbol for the act: old, withered, traditional, sceptic.

“We're here today in the case of the state of France against Henri Grantaire. The accused faces a charge in several cases of violation and defacing of public and historical sights in this city as well as incitement of the people using rousing pamphlets that were also distributed all over Paris. May I ask public prosecutor Sebastien Enjolras to give us his summation to start this trial.”

“Thank you, your Honour.”, said Enjolras and opened the buttons of his jacket while he got up, feeling the attention of the whole court room resting on him. He stepped around the table and faced the judge who scrutinized him, clearly in disfavour of his young age.

“Like you already said, this trail is held because of violation and defacing along with incitement.”, started Enjolras his well rehearsed speech and turned to point at Grantaire, “All carried out by this man, Henri Grantaire, a rising star in the modern art scene in France. He used his influence to firstly transport his own political believes through his paintings. May I turn your attention to the famous Patria Series and a few representatives of the even more well known Studies in Scarlet.”

He turned to his table and picked up two copies of two painting he had printed out. One showed a Patria work – Patria in misery – a woman resembling Enjolras who was dressed in rags and begged on the square beyond the Eiffel Tower, being thoroughly ignored by the passer-bys. The other painting was from Studies in Scarlet, a camouflage of screaming faces that was dominated by a weeping child in it's middle. Enjolras held them up and showed them first to the audience, then to the judge.

“Henri Grantaire's works have always been concerned with the oppressed in today's society. And with showing this fixation, we already have a motive: he couldn't change the way things were with his art, so Monsieur Grantaire moved on to more direct ways of protest as seen on these photos.”

Enjolras held up the photos of the graffitis strewn all over Paris and showed them to both audience and the judge. He put them down again and said calmly: “Studies in Scarlet... the colour of the graffitis... they are exactly the same colour, even the same product of the same brand. A careless move, made to provoke and to tease. In hindsight it's been a dumb move that made our task force follow the lead into the very gallery the current exhibition of Monsieur Grantaire is held in.”

Angry murmurs arose from the crowd and Enjolras scanned quickly over the faces. Jehan was nearly snarling, his upper lip pulled up, his nostrils quivering while only Éponine's hand on his lower arm seemed to hold him back from jumping at Enjolras' throat. Combeferre was pale and looked close to tears. Grantaire instead was watching him, curiosity mixed into his concern. He had caught the wink and had started to think about its meaning.

“Which brings me to the topics of Monsieur Grantaire's protest actions: the act for sexual equality. He has shown in countless graffitis men and women of Paris who work in high positions, has disregarded their...”, some shouts cut Enjolras short, “... disregarded their personal freedom and violated their privacy.”

Some people at the back rose to their feet, gesticulated towards Enjolras and shouted angry about the fact that the act would disregard even more. The judge thumped his hammer onto the bench while Enjolras strolled to the table to get the last evidence he wanted to bring forward. He took a deep, calming breath, because this was where he wanted to built to. This was his last and greatest ace up his sleeve. If it failed, he would fail. And failing was not an option, not anymore.

Enjolras turned around and raised the stack of pamphlets. It would have been enough to bring one, but Enjolras wanted to make a point.

“For his campaign, Henri Grantaire only used people he knew, things he had collected, things he had created. The first graffiti to appear was a photo taken by him in his time as school paper photographer back in lycée. The other graffitis were pictures of friends and family. The quote written onto the stairs in Montmatre was a quote by...”, Enjolras had to take a deep breath because now he was more or less just talking to Grantaire, so he turned around slowly and said, his eyes trained on Grantaire's: “... it was a quote by a man deeply devoted to him.”

Grantaire's mouth fell slightly open while Courfeyrac just looked outright confused. Enjolras could not think about that just now, he was getting to the most important part.

“The pamphlets he distributed were not written by Monsieur Grantaire though. They were meant to work against homophobia in modern society and have been written by... me.”

Silence.

The room was completely silent. Enjolras had counted on that and started smiling, facing the audience now: “These pamphlets were written to show that a differing sexual orientation was and is in fact not harmful. It is as natural as eating and breathing and nothing one can be condemned for.”

More murmuring arouse and Enjolras stepped towards the audience who seemed utterly confused about the change in Enjolras' summation.

“And that does not only go for homosexuality but for every sexual orientation in our world. It is a basic human right to love and be loved. It is the right of every person to find happiness with whoever they want. No one in this world should have the right or even _think_ about having the right to condemn someone for ones feelings or preferences.”

“Monsieur Enjolras...”, reprimanded the judge while some people in the audience were shouting confirming encouragements and raised fists into the air. Enjolras would not stop though.

“Henri Grantaire!”, Enjolras cried and waived an arm at Grantaire who was smiling by now, “Was the man many of us could not be. The man who stood up for our rights, who fought for our freedom and who is now being put to trail by the system which wants to put us in chains. He should not pay the price for our cowardice! He should not be the one to be put in jail. They...”, Enjolras whirled around and pointed with one finger to the judge, fire in his eyes and words, “... they should be put behind bars for it's them who want to take our freedom away by hiding their despotism under the cloak of laws and acts.”

“Court usher! Security! Remove this man!”, called the judge, arisen from his chair, and pointed at Enjolras. The courtroom nearly dissolved into chaos but Enjolras managed to cry over the tumult: “This is our time, this is the time to stand up and fight for our rights! We are the people! We are the people of France and it doesn't matter whether we love men, women, queer, non-binary or gender-fluid! Let us _stand together_ and show them that we will _not_ obey their despotism!”

“Seize him!”, roared the judge while Enjolras flung the pamphlets into the air. A man in a security outfit pushed past Enjolras and fended two other police men off while a hand grabbed his shoulder. Enjolras turned around and looked into the dark eyes of a young woman, also wearing a security uniform. She had a curly head and an open face while she smiled: “Enjolras! Well spoken. My name is Musichetta, I'm Joly and Bossuet's girlfriend. Nice to finally meet you.”

“Ehm...”, made Enjolras while Musichetta grinned wicked: “While Francoise and Jean fend off the others, we should get R and get the hell out of here!”

“But the people...”, said Enjolras while he watched a dozen men pushing back police men, hindering them to get through to Enjolras. Combeferre was wrestling with another security woman who wanted to grasp Grantaire while Courfeyrac tried pushing him towards Enjolras and Musichetta. Bahorel and Feuilly were forming a human chain to keep back supporters of the government while Marius had his troubles with keeping Cosette out of the fighting who seemed eager to help their friends.

Then Enjolras' eyes found green ones, sparkling with mischief and pride and took in the gleaming smile illuminating his face. Enjolras mirrored it and forgot the troubles for a moment when Grantaire extended a hand to him. Enjolras took it and pressed his hand with a smile. Musichetta had been watching and now seized Enjolras' arm.

“So far so good, let's get the hell out of here!”, laughed Musichetta and tugged Enjolras and Grantaire along while two other security men helped them get to the back door. Enjolras could feel nothing beside Grantaire's hand in his, heard nothing but Grantaire's breath next to him, smelled nothing but Grantaire's aftershave, saw nothing but Grantaire's smile.

“I knew you would find your way again...”, he murmured and lifted Enjolras' hand, pressing a gentle and most fond kiss to his knuckles. Enjolras' mouth went dry and he could do nothing but grin while Musichetta ushered them out the back.

“Hurry, we must hurry. They'll have reinforcements here soon and then there's no getting out of here!”, she prophesied and pushed one last door open and stared out into the street.

“What shall we do?”, asked Grantaire while Musichetta spied up and down the street and stepped out to wave for a taxi a moment later, “We need to go somewhere safe.”

“We can not hide.”, said Enjolras and stepped in front of Grantaire, cupping his face with one hand while he looked down in those beloved green eyes, “We can not leave the people to themselves. Our friends have been fighting, we should...”

“You should get going.”, said Musichetta who came back and dragged Enjolras off Grantaire, “We can look out for ourselves. We chose this, all of us did. Now you must make sure that Grantaire is safe. Can you do that, Enjolras?”

Without a hesitation, Enjolras nodded and grasped Grantaier's hand, squeezing it reassuring. Musichetta smiled wide and waived them out to the waiting taxi. They climbed into the back seat and before they departed, Grantaire kissed Musichetta's hand thankfully.

“Where to?”, asked the taxi driver and looked at Enjolras in the rear mirror.

“53 Republique Avenue, please. And hurry.”, said Enjolras and turned to Grantaire.

He was sitting there, smiling wide, a feverish glint in his eyes, total exhilaration on his face while he started chuckling. Enjolras mimicked his smile but did not know what else to do. He had found his fire again, he had found his goal again, he had his drive back. He had acknowledged what his friends had been trying to tell him for weeks now: that he had changed and not for the better. Now he would change back because Enjolras had truly nearly become like the men he never wanted to be. He was ashamed that it had needed so much to turn him back on his path.

Grantaire pressed his hand and Enjolras looked at him. He had sorted so much out the past two days. But when it came to Grantaire and his own feelings for him, Enjolras was still as helpless as a child.

Grantaire threw his head back and started laughing while shaking his head. Enjolras smiled along although he had still no idea what to do. Grantaire dropped his head back and grinned at Enjolras.

“You know, I really thought you would go through with this when you came into the court. I should have known that only a man on a mission... the _right_ mission... can walk that determined.”, he smiled and raised a hand to run his fingers through Enjolras' long hair that had freed itself from his ponytail. Relieve washed through him.

“I am sorry that I needed that long to... find my way again.”, apologized Enjolras and dropped his head to his chest. Slender, warm fingers closed around his chin and raised his head again. Grantaire's eyes were warm and fond, yet there was still sadness in them.

“Better late then never...”, whispered Grantaire and leaned in slowly. Enjolras froze while Grantaire's warm lips pressed against his, his breath caressing Enjolras' skin and his fingers reassuring in his hair. Enjolras reached up and fisted his hands into Grantaire's shirt, tugging him close while he kept kissing him like Grantaire was the only thing on earth keeping him alive.

By doing so, the time seemed to race and in no time the taxi driver interrupted them with a shallow clearing of his throat. Enjolras felt Grantaire break away although he hated that he did so. Wordless, Grantaire paid the driver and left the taxi afterwards. Enjolras scrambled to follow him and tugged him towards the entrance door by the hand, mortified that a police officer would jump out of a passing car any second and take Grantaire away from him.

But no one came to take Grantaire and so they arrived in the shared flat, Enjolras cramming the key into the lock while Grantaire laughed breathless and maybe even a little hysterical behind him. Enjolras yanked the door open and pushed Grantaire inside, then he locked, left the key in the lock and put forth both chains, knowing that it would not keep any task force or special unit out if they wanted to get Grantaire.

Enjolras turned around, fear and despair threatening to wash over him. But then he caught Grantaire's eyes again. And they were still gleaming with pride and affection. Enjolras felt a knot tighten in his stomach, felt words pile onto his tongue while his brain seemed overtaxed with keeping them in his mouth. And so he closed the distance to the man he loved, took a fond hold of his face and pressed his forehead against Grantaire's.

“I'm sorry. I'm so so sorry. I was a fool, I was such an idiot...”

“Enjolras...”

“Don't. Don't tell my I wasn't. Don't try to take all the blame on yourself again.”, spluttered Enjolras and kept stroking Grantaire's cheeks with both thumbs while his eyes were trained on Grantaire's, “You always do that. You always did that. That's why I should have never... I was too young and thought it was the right thing. I thought I would do you a favour. I have been so stupid, so dumb. I should have known better, I should have talked to you.”

“Enjolras, please...”

“I should have never written that letter. I wish I could take back everything I wrote in there. I wish I could go back and destroy that damned thing before you ever see it! I wish all of this never happened.”

Grantaire had been absolutely still in Enjolras' hands, looking up in his eyes, his hands resting of Enjolras' chest. Now he carefully took a hold of Enjolras' wrists, dragged Enjolras' hands carefully from his face, pressed kisses to his palms and stepped back then. Enjolras watched desperate, not knowing if Grantaire would refuse his apology or simply wanted some space between them. He watched as Grantaire took out his wallet and opened it, not looking at Enjolras, while he drew out a worn, frayed piece of paper.

The paper was from a plain college notepad, squared with fading blue ink on it. It was folded multiple times to fit into the wallet and the edges where the page had been folded were nearly falling apart. Grantaire held onto it most tenderly and gulped high in his throat. He raised his eyes to Enjolras and he saw how tormented Grantaire seemed.

“I can not turn back time to grant you the opportunity to destroy the letter, but...”, he started and held out the paper. The pieces slotted into place and Enjolras recognized the loopy handwriting mortified. He made a step back and stared at the paper as if it was an abomination from the deepest circles of hell while Grantaire's hand shook a little.

“You kept it?”, exhaled Enjolras horrified and looked back up at Grantaire, his eyes wide while he felt cold sweat pouring down his spine. Grantaire shrugged his shoulders.

“It was the only thing I kept when you left... It was proof that I had been loved by you sometime...”, murmured Grantaire and could not look at Enjolras while he scanned the floor next to Enjolras' shoes.

“That you...”, stuttered Enjolras, his head reeling with realisation.

He had written that letter back then because he loved Grantaire. Because he loved him too much to watch him throw away his future as an artist in favour of following him to Paris. He had thought that it was the right thing – not necessary for himself, but for Grantaire. He had thought Grantaire would get over the breakup and would become a successful artist, a man people would respect, a man people would love, because Grantaire deserved so much more than to be just Enjolras' hanger-on.

Enjolras ripped the letter from Grantaire's hand and tore it to shreds in front of his wide, green eyes. Grantaire paled and opened his mouth in silent horror. Enjolras tossed the snippets over his shoulder and grabbed Grantaire's face again, staring intently into his eyes while he breathed deeply to hinder himself from shouting his next words. Instead they turned into an intent whisper that made Grantaire shake.

“If you think I wrote that letter because I didn't love you anymore... god, if you _really_ thought I didn't love you anymore you are... you were so wrong!”, whispered Enjolras and backed Grantaire against the wall, staring at Grantaire in a mixture of horror and the need to comfort him. The charismatic young artist who had teased him just a few days before had vanished and there was his boyfriend again, the insecure boy who had always looked at Enjolras like he was the sun. He had not changed, not really, Enjolras understood just then.

“And I was the one who made you think so. I was the one who... oh god, Grantaire, I always loved you. I left because I wanted the best for you. And I blew it. I blew everything. I made you think I didn't love you anymore. But I do! Gee, I do and always di...”

Grantaire wrapped both arms around his neck before Enjolras could finish talking and rose on tiptoes to practically devour him. Enjolras stumbled back against the opposite wall and stabilized Grantaire who kissed him desperately.

“I love you too!”, half-purred half-sobbed Grantaire and kept crowding against him, “I love you so much, I always have! I always will.”

Enjolras kissed him back and dragged the tie from Grantaire's neck. He wasn't sure if Grantaire realised how much he loathed himself for writing this letter, wasn't sure if Grantaire understood how very sorry he was, wasn't sure if Grantaire knew how much he wanted him back. But he couldn't care with Grantaire's body pressed flush against his, his breath stroking his lips and cheeks.

Somehow they tumbled to Enjolras' room where he kicked the door closed. Grantaire broke their kiss and looked up at Enjolras who panted against his lips. He gulped as Grantaire smiled and ran his hands through his blond hair. Enjolras cast down his eyes and smiled almost shy to himself.

“We've been idiots. You in the beginning, me later on.”, said Grantaire and let go of Enjolras, sitting down on his bed, his eyes scanning the room, catching at the frames on Enjolras' night-stand. He reached over and tugged the old picture from the frame and took it in both hands, smiling lightly.

“I remember that day.”, he told Enjolras, “You refused vehemently to go swimming with me because the water was too cold. And you sulked when I went nevertheless. It was a great day. I was happy then.”

“I want you to be happy now.”, spluttered Enjolras and cursed himself silently for rushing everything so much. He sighed and pushed his hand through his hair, sitting down next to Grantaire and looked at the photo as well. He wrung his hands and finally left the head space that was hazed with panic and longing to look at things with a more objective view again.

Grantaire looked up and caught Enjolras' eyes but said nothing. He was watching intently while Enjolras narrowed his eyebrows and sighed before saying: “I... I don't think you know how sorry I am. And nothing I could ever do would... _will_ ever right the wrongs I've done to you. And I realize that I do not have the right to ask you to grant me the chance to try to make things up to you because you are not my boyfriend anymore. You are... you are with Jehan and I feel bad about... forcing myself between the two of you. I shouldn't have let you... we should not have done the things we did that night. I shouldn't let you kiss me today.”

“Was I that bad a kisser?”, asked Grantaire sarcastic and shook his head, looking at the photo again.

“Don't be like that.”, sighed Enjolras and rubbed his neck, “You know I can't handle that without jumping at your throat.”

“I know.”, murmured Grantaire and put the photo back on the night-stand, “But I am more familiar with you yelling at me than you talking about... feelings.”

“Well, I grew up and am able now to talk about feelings without exploding because I can't find words for them.”, excused Enjolras himself for all the times he had yelled at Grantaire in their youth because he couldn't put his emotions into words that Grantaire would understand. Grantaire nodded slowly and seemed to understand that Enjolras was talking about those times.

Silence stretched on a little while, then Grantaire sighed and flopped back onto the bed, placing one arm over his eyes while he shook his head a little. Enjolras hoped that he would pick up the topic of Jehan because he felt firstly awful for making Grantaire cheat on Jehan and secondly because he couldn't bear the thought of not knowing if Grantaire wanted him back or not. And so he waited until Grantaire took another deep breath and started talking again.

“It wasn't just an empty phrase when Jehan said we were _partners_... We are not boyfriends. Don't get me wrong, we tried it.... We really did. But... Jehan was there for me when I was at my lowest. And when I was better, I discovered that not only I had much too much emotional baggage. Jehan built me up when I was nothing but drugs and tears. And I staid with him because he needed me just as much as I needed him. We understand and trust each other, because we've both been damaged beyond repair.”

“Grantaire, I...”

“No, Enj, let me talk or you might never get your answer.”, chided Grantaire fondly while Enjolras looked to his knees and had to smile at himself. He had forgotten that Grantaire came close to a mind reader when it came to Enjolras. Of course he knew the question without Enjolras uttering it aloud. So Enjolras fell silent and waited.

“We look out for each other. We are there for each other. We try to protect each other. Occasionally we would end up in bed together, that's true, but we were... I was...”, Grantaire sighed and rubbed his face with both hands, staring blankly at the ceiling afterwards, “Jehan soon found out that I could not give him what he needed... what he deserved. I could not... I could not bring myself into this relationship because I was still... I will forever be in love with you, no matter what happens.”

He looked at Enjolras and searched in his face for something Enjolras could not pinpoint. Enjolras lay back on the bed as well, facing Grantaire who rolled over as well. He propped his head on his hand and chuckled sadly.

“I hate myself for putting Jehan through this. I hate how he looks at me like I will break any second. And I know I would have if you would have pushed me away. Jehan would have picked me up and put me back together, but it would have broken him a little more too. Jehan will always be the most important person in my life... after you.”, tried Grantaire to specify what was going through his mind.

Enjolras reached down to take Grantaire's hand, entwined their fingers and lifted it to press a kiss to Grantaire's knuckles while Grantaire watched intently. He was stuck for words – god damn it, why was he always stuck for words around Grantaire? – and struggled to express his feelings. The objective, rational part of his brain kept yelling at him that Grantaire had fled his own trial, was possibly looked for in the whole city and they would not need much longer to figure out that he went with Enjolras to his flat and would come to get him. But his heart and the sappy, overclouded romantic part of his brain that Enjolras tended to ignore was rejoicing and hoping that they would never have to leave the bed again.

Grantaire seemed to strive to put an end to the discussion because he explained: “Jehan knew that I would try to find you one day from the beginning on. He knew and he told me that he would be there for me when that moment came. And he was, although he hated to see what it did to me. And he swore to support whichever decision I would make.”

“And which decision is that?”, asked Enjolras and heard how rough his voice sounded and wondered if Grantaire could hear his heart pound against his ribcage.

Grantaire started smiling slowly, his eyes caressing Enjolras' face while he took up their entwined hands and pressed the back of Enjolras' hand against his chest where Enjolras felt his heart beat slowly and calmly against his hand. His eyes flicked up to Grantaire's again and the young artist was still smiling.

“I would like to work things out.”, said Grantaire in a low voice, “I would like... if you want me... to start over again. I want to call you my boyfriend again and stick around you whenever you let me. I want to tease you about the holes in your argumentation and I want to bring you coffee on Sundays when you are physically unable to leave the bed before eleven a.m. I would like to have you back... Please?”

Enjolras laughed low about the last question and leaned forward, his lips locking thoroughly with Grantaire's while he nodded, whispering affirmations between kisses. Grantaire still held his hand while the other fisted fondly in Enjolras' hair again. Enjolras pulled him tighter and rolled them over until he was hovering over Grantaire, their entwined hands pinned into the mattress next to Grantaire's head, his other hand placed next to Grantaire's waist to support his weight.

“Before I...”, started Grantaire in a purr between kisses while Enjolras was still hovering over him.

“What?”, mouthed Enjolras against his jaw. Grantaire sighed deeply.

“Before I go to jail...”, purred Grantaire and turned his head to lick at Enjolras' earlobe which made him shiver, “Would you... Can I _have_ you?”

Enjolras didn't know why but he raised his head and chuckled while Grantaire was looking up hopefully at him. When he saw that Enjolras was smiling, he quickly added: “Only if you are to be had. I mean... if you want to fuck _me_ I would be absolutely and utterly fine with that, probably the biggest fan of that idea... I just... Enj, I need you _now_!”

“It's fine.”, whispered Enjolras and stole a slow, swirling kiss with the promise of much more from Grantaire's lips, “If you want me, you can have me. All of me...”

“God...”, groaned Grantaire and let Enjolras' hand go in favour of grabbing his long hair again. In a quick move, Grantaire rolled them over and was situated between Enjolras' legs in the blink of an eye, hands still in his hair, hips grinding seductively against Enjolras' and his lips not leaving Enjolras' for a moment. He was a good kisser and had always loved kissing and not even eight years had changed anything about this.

Enjolras succumbed to Grantaire's lips and tongue and the occasional hint of teeth and put a lock before the outlet of his objective and rational side because... well, because screw rational, he was with Grantaire and Grantaire still wanted him after all this time. He still loved him. And Enjolras still loved him. And they were young and fools and in love and Grantaire _kissed_ so well.

They soon got rid of too much fabric between them, still kissing. Enjolras had not known that he could get so hot just from kissing. He was panting and his heart raced while Grantaire half knelt between his legs, half lay on him, his lips ghosting over his neck and to his ear, where he moaned praise and words of affection between kisses and licks. Enjolras arched into him, seeking as much contact as possible. Grantaire raised his head from his neck and looked at him, one hand closing around the right side of his face while his thumb stroked admiring circles into his skin before tracing the line of his lower lip slowly.

Enjolras held eye contact, panting against the warm fingertip over his lip and watched Grantaire who cocked his head and smiled so softly at Enjolras that it nearly hurt. He did not know what Grantaire was looking for but when Grantaire smiled, Enjolras smiled back and ran his hands over his sides and his chest, assuring him that he was still on board with this. Grantaire smiled wider and bent down to kiss again.

Enjolras was alight with a new fire and grew more and more eager the more Grantaire ravaged his mouth with lips and tongue. After a moment, Enjolras turned away his head and sucked at Grantaire's shoulder, whispering afterwards: “Lube is in the drawer...”

“Thanks for reminding me...”, smiled Grantaire but reached over to tug out the tube with slow movements. He lay back down on Enjolras, the small container in his hand while he got back to kissing. Hungrier and more demanding this time which made Enjolras moan against his lips. Grantaire trailed a hot path of kisses down Enjolras' chest and abdomen, then he sat up and tugged at the waistband of Enjolras' boxer briefs. He lifted his hips off the mattress while Grantaire helped discard his underwear.

Enjolras lay back and closed his eyes, breathing deeply to calm down a little more. Grantaire was gentle and fond with him when he started preparing him. He kissed Enjolras' knees and thighs while his index finger worked miracles. He was slow and took his time, moving with surety and a certainty that had Enjolras' thigh and stomach muscles shake by the time he added a third finger.

Enjolras had his eyes closed and panted while his toes curled and uncurled, his hands grabbed fistful of the pastel-green sheets while he turned his head from side to side. Grantaire crooked his fingers and dragged them out slowly, touching the spot that sent sparks up Enjolras' spine.

“Ah... _ah_... Gran _taire_...”, begged Enjolras while he heard a low chuckle. Grantaire repeated the movement slow and teasing three times by which Enjolras was half sitting on the bed, grabbing Grantaire's shoulder, his fingernails biting half-circles into the soft, inked-up skin. Grantaire carefully drew his fingers out and was back to kissing Enjolras, crowding him back into the sheets while Enjolras wrapped his legs around Grantaire's thighs, pulling him as close as possible.

“Where are the condoms, Enj?”, purred Grantaire between kisses and made Enjolras open his eyes to look at him. He blushed a deep shade of magenta while he tried to hold Grantaire's gaze, but when he chocked out the words still flushed, he had to look away: “I'm... I'm clean... Combeferre makes me have it checked regularly. If you want we can...”

“Gee, I would _love_ to. I'm clean too.”, whispered Grantaire and got back to kissing Enjolras while he carefully untangled Enjolras' legs around his waist and wiggled out of his underwear without much showmanship. He took a pillow from the head of Enjolras' bed and helped him raise his hips from the bed to place the pillow beneath, then he carefully propped himself up on his hands next to Enjolras' shoulders and lined himself up.

“Is this OK for you?”, he asked after hesitating briefly, the light pressure of the head of his cock against Enjolras' entrance making the blond man shake and gasp.

“Of course! Of course it is! Come on, Grantaire, _please_!!!”, panted Enjolras and raked his hands over Grantaire's sides.

Slowly he breached him and Enjolras could not bite back the moan that erupted from his chest. The feeling was like nothing Enjolras had ever experienced. He had not lived like a monk while he hadn't been with Grantaire but it had never felt like this with his few bed companions. Grantaire fit him, Grantaire completed him, Grantaire felt so right. It was amazing and Enjolras could have cried about the feeling if his head hadn't been somewhere over the clouds, swimming with the feeling that Grantaire bestowed on him.

When Grantaire bottomed out, he let a long, hissing breath escape and opened his eyes to look at Enjolras who pressed his head back into the pillows, his eyes screwed shut while his mouth had fallen open. He breathed deeply and opened his eyes as well to look at Grantaire and he dived down to kiss him again. They were drinking from the others mouth while Grantaire started to move his hips in slow and shallow thrusts, meeting Enjolras' circling movement with just the right timing that had them panting in seconds.

Grantaire let one of his elbows buckle to lay down over Enjolras, the now free hand grabbing Enjolras hair fondly while the other hand started shaking with the effort to keep himself balanced. Enjolras arched off the bed and crossed his ankles behind Grantaire's butt, beckoning him closer, wrapping one arm around Grantaire's shoulders, pressing open mouthed and hot kisses to Grantaire's chest while their rhythm sped up.

Grantaire recognized through the haze of Enjolras' breathing, the heat of his body and tightness of him around himself that Enjolras was mouthing along the vines of his tattoos, sucking at the grapes he could reach and grazing his teeth over the few phrases he saw. Grantaire's eyes rolled back in his head and he couldn't help but moan and speed up.

Enjolras was lost. If someone had asked him just now, he probably would not have know his own name. He was lost in their movement, in the feeling of Grantaire filling him so fabulously, in the rolling of Grantaire's hips and the feeling of his fingers in his hair. He was panting, lost for words, not one sound left in him while he hungered for more. He could not get enough of Grantaire, the taste of his skin intoxicating him while Grantaire moved like a metronome over him.

Suddenly Grantaire pulled out and Enjolras whined about the loss, about the way he pulled away and his eyes snapped open only to see that Grantaire moved to lie down next to him, rolling Enjolras onto his side to lie behind him. Enjolras obeyed if obeying meant that he would have Grantaire in him again soon. One of Grantaire's arms snug between Enjolras' sweaty skin and the mattress, pulling the blond man tight against Grantaire's warm chest while the other hand clasped Enjolras' knee carefully, raising his leg carefully.

Enjolras let his head fall back against Grantaire's shoulder while he raised the leg obedient, his hand coming to accompany Grantaire's on his knee, their fingers entwining to keep Enjolras' stable. Grantaire was back and Enjolras cried out from the feeling when he moved over the spot that made him see stars. Grantaire chuckled into Enjolras' shoulder, kept the new, fantastic angle and drove maddeningly slowly into Enjolras who panted open mouthed.

Grantaire's hold around Enjolras' chest grew tighter while he sped up, encouraged by Enjolras' panting. Grantaire drew his hand from Enjolras' knee and placed it lightly on his waist, adjusting a little more until Enjolras whined with every one of his thrusts, sparks flying up and down his spine while his head started swimming.

“I'm... I'm close...”, whispered Grantaire into his ear hoarse and pressed a kiss into Enjolras' hair. Enjolras groaned about the thought of Grantaire spending inside him and nodded frantically, raising his leg even a little further. Grantaire's hand slunk down over his waist, the upper thigh and wandered up to take care of Enjolras too.

“Henri!”, gasped Enjolras when Grantaire closed his fingers around him, starting to jerk him off in time with the slow rhythm of his thrusts inside him. Enjolras felt Grantaire's lips on his neck, felt him licking and then sucking on the point just beneath Enjolras' ear that did the trick. The tightness in his lower abdomen dissolved waves of pleasure and pearlescent spurs of Enjolras' come painted the sheets and Grantaire's fist.

Whining from overstimulation, Enjolras leaned back against Grantaire whose breath was hot and shaking on his neck, his hips stuttering in their rhythm while he was so close to coming that he must be hurting. Enjolras put an arm back, curled his hands in Grantaire's short hair and turned his head to mouth at Grantaire's jaw.

“Henri, come...”, purred Enjolras, remembering how much Grantaire had always loved it when he did that. He groaned into Enjolras shoulder and drove in once more, Enjolras feeling him pulse deep inside him which made Enjolras gasp and turn a little as well. After a moment, Grantaire collapsed against his shoulder, still within him and took a deep breath.

“Well... shit...”, he murmured and Enjolras heard the grin on his face before he turned to kiss Grantaire. Their kiss was slow, indulgent and full of gratitude. After a moment, Grantaire placed a hand on Enjolras' hip and slowly drew out, using the tissues from Enjolras' tissue box on his night-stand to clean them both up. He rolled over and tossed the ball – Enjolras admired his aim – into the bin under the desk. With the other hand he fished their boxers from off the floor and tossed Enjolras' on his chest.

Grantaire got up and pulled on his briefs, sitting down on the edge of the bed again, his face in his hands, chuckling into the hollow while Enjorlas dragged on his briefs, his hips arched off the bed. He was startled by the chuckled and sat up as well, touching Grantaire's back lightly.

“What's so funny?”, asked Enjolras a little insecure and cocked his head while Grantaire looked over his shoulder, grinning at Enjolras.

“That I've escaped a courtroom today with the help of the public prosecutor inclined to get me in jail and have ended up in his bed instead, having amazing sex with this gorgeous human being.”, smiled Grantaire and lay back again, kissing Enjolras lazily while they curled up in bed, the warm June air heating the room up so that they didn't need a cover.

Grantaire lay on his back, Enjolras half on his chest, his arm slung around Grantaire's belly, his leg hooked over Grantaire's. Grantaire caressed his lower arm with a thumb and both stared off into the air. The moment was too peaceful, too content, too perfect to talk. Although Enjolras knew he would still have a great deal to say when they had the time to. He would never stop to tell Grantaire how sorry he was about the letter. He just hoped it would be enough someday, if not he was fine continuing until he died.

“Stop it...”, chuckled Grantaire and kissed the top of Enjolras' head.

“Not doin' anything.”, complained Enjolras smiling and kissed Grantaire's collarbone.

“Yes you are. You are thinking way too much. I can hear the little wheels turning from here... Just be content now, OK? We probably don't have much time left before they come to get me... and you too, by the way. How long do you get for aiding and abetting flight of a criminal from prosecution?”, asked Grantaire sarcastic and tousled Enjolras' hair.

Although he did not want to, Enjolras had to laugh a little and propped himself up on an elbow, looking into Grantaire's content face while he ran a finger over the tattoos on his chest. He pretended to think hard, then he answered: “Depends on the case. In my case I'd say life-long imprisonment with you as my cell partner.”

Now Grantaire laughed heartily and shook his head: “You're a horrible lawyer.”

“Well, I could have Courfeyrac look up the countries which do not have to extradite us to France if you don't trust me...”, smiled Enjolras and cocked his head at Grantaire.

And as if the name had been a summon, the front door creaked in its hinges when the owner of the name threw it open with the shout: “Enjolras! Let me in!”

Enjolras scrambled over Grantaire and darted to the front door where he let Courfeyrac in before he would rip the chains off the door or the frame for that matter. His friend's hair was tousled, his eyes where shining and he had the first bloom of a black eye on his left cheekbone.

“Enjolras, it was unbelievable!”, shouted Courfeyrac and threw the door closed while he whirled around to Enjolras, “The people, Enjolras! So many demonstrations, all over the city. They united... people are joining them. Police men change the sides... I punched one who insulted Combeferre and Jehan and two of his colleagues were _supporting_ me.”

“Slow down, what's going on?”, asked Grantaire who had come to the hallway as well. Courfeyrac whirled around and was about to explain further when he caught sight of Grantaire in briefs and Enjolras wearing nothing more but pants as well. His smile grew impossible wide and he laughed.

“Finally! Gee, it was about time!!!”, he rejoiced and hugged and kissed Enjolras. But although Enjolras was bursting from happiness about Grantaire and him finally on the right way, his rational side was working again and he grabbed Courfeyrac's upper arm before he could push past him to Grantaire.

“What is going on?”, asked Enjolras intently.

“Turn on the news, then you'll see!”, smiled Courfeyrac and shook him off to go cheer Grantaire who received the praise a lot more enthusiastic than Enjolras.

Meanwhile, Enjolras had darted into the living room and was switching on the telly on the channel for the local news. What he saw took his breath away. Courfeyrac was right, the people had united, the protest in front of the court had not been the only one. In the whole city people were flocking together, chanting paroles and demanding to free Grantaire and wanting politicians to turn down the act.

The Champs-Élysées was crowded with people from the Arque de Triomphe to the Place de la Concorde, the park and the square around the Eiffel Tower was littered with red flags and French flags, the Hotel de las Invalides was the centre of another big demonstration and everywhere was the same picture: common people, students, senior residents, police men, security personal, people wearing business attires, road workers and all the other parts of society stood together. But mostly they were young people, waving gay-pride flags and other flags symbolizing different sexual orientations.

An arm was wound around Enjolras' waist and Grantaire pressed a kiss to his shoulder, standing on tiptoes to do so. Enjolras could not look away from the telly even when Grantaire breathed: “Wow, that's impressive...”

“Impressive?”, echoed Courfeyrac and laughed amused, “That's not impressive, that's a shift in paradigm! An accused flees from the court room and the people somehow unite to hinder all police and other security forces to get him while he is having sex with the public prosecutor in charge... I like your style, R...”

“Thanks...”, smiled Grantaire while Enjolras turned around and glared at them.

“We need to get out there.”, he stated forcefully and looked intently at Courfeyrac, “We need to show the people that they are not alone, that their fight is not forsaken. We need to show them that Grantaire is free and will be free if we keep standing together.”

“I won't argue with that.”, smiled Courfeyrac while Grantaire opened his mouth to protest, “The people keep saying your name in the same breath as Grantaire's. They say you are the one who brought the change. Grantaire inspired them and you set their minds to the change. With you as a part of the legal authorities siding with the protestors, they found new hope and went out onto the streets.”

“Are you saying we are the hope of those people?!”, asked Grantaire sceptical and crossed his arms, Enjolras seeing the insecure boy in him once more.

“Maybe not the hope, but you certainly are the figureheads of this revolution.”, grinned Courfeyrac, leaning against the wall, arms and ankles crossed.

“Revolution...”, echoed Grantaire a little hollow.

“Yes.”, laughed Courfeyrac, “The people just needed a sign to rally. And you delivered that sign with your flight from the court.”

“It's finally begun...”, breathed Enjolras and excitement washed through him, lit up all his nerves and made him anxious to make a move. He wanted to dash to his room to get ready, then he stopped dead in his tracks when he caught a glance at Grantaire's face. The old Enjolras would have not seen the suspicious – maybe even slightly afraid – flicker in Grantaire's eyes, would not have recognized how uncomfortable Grantaire was. But now Enjolras did.

Enjolras hesitated, then he took a step to Grantaire and put his hand into his neck, making the shorter man look up to him. Grantaire seemed surprised by this reaction and Enjolras smiled because not only Grantaire had changed in all those years. He kept smiling, fondly and reassuring, and asked: “What is it?”

“It's...”, started Grantaire but broke off again, not able to hold Enjolras' gaze any longer. He looked to the side and sighed deeply. Courfeyrac – boisterous, loud, cheeky Courfeyrac – went to the kitchen to let them have a bit more privacy which Enjolras gave him great credit for. He sighed and shook his head at Grantaire, still smiling fondly.

“Please talk to me.”, he said calmly and kissed Grantaire's forehead. When he pulled back, Grantaire's eyes were closed and he kept leaning into Enjolras. He wrapped him up and kept shaking his head. He was not sure what was going on with Grantaire just now but he had a brief idea of what was going through his mind. That was why he said: “You will be fine, I promise. You won't go to jail. I won't let them do that.”

“It's not about me!”, snapped Grantaire and pushed Enjolras away, his eyes sparkling angry, “I'm concerned for _you_! Do you know that you just ruined your whole carrier by fleeing with me? You'll never get a foot in the door again because of me. I'm not good enough to deny the world of the brilliant lawyer you would have been!”

“A few minutes ago you told me I was an awful lawyer...”, smiled Enjolras and Grantaire rolled his eyes bothered about it.

“I curse the day you discovered sarcasm and irony.”, he groaned and crossed his arms.

“I had the best teacher.”, smiled Enjolras and reached out to rub Grantaire's arm, “I decided to get you out of there two days ago. I made my choice because I could not have lived as the oh-so-brilliant lawyer you all think I would have been in the knowledge that I grovelled in submission to get there. This is the right way, my way. I wanted change, so change I got. And I will not hide in here of fear of the consequences of my deeds. I will go out and support the people supporting us. Our friends are out there... I will not hide.”

Grantaire had started smiling while Enjolras spoke, seeing again the passionate, committed young man he had fallen in love with all those years ago upon seeing him for the first time. Enjolras stepped to him again and hugged him tight, whispering in his ear: “And if you once more say that you are not worth that much, I swear to god that I will beat it into that stubborn skull of yours.”

Grantaire laughed and leaned back, looking at Enjolras who smiled lightly before kissing him. When they broke apart, Grantaire smiled and nudged Enjolras.

“Come on then, there's a revolution you need to lead.”, he smiled and tugged Enjolras back into his room where they got dressed again.

 

*

 

The taxi would not get past L'église de la Madeleine. Enjolras was drumming his fingers onto his knee caps while Courfeyrac was debating with the taxi driver if it was possible to take another route. Grantaire peered out the window to the people passing the stuck car, waving flags and banners, shouting and paroling D-S-O-S-R – the hashtag from twitter that meant different sexual orientation, same rights – or the parole that had been written on Joly's banner: Free R, Free Arts!

“That's it.”, said Enjolras unnerved when the taxi driver started blaming Courfeyrac for being stuck in a demonstration and tossed a few banknotes at the driver – much too much judging from his grin – and yanked open the door. Grantaire slid out behind him and Courfeyrac left the taxi as well.

“The main demonstration is on the Place de la Concorde. We just need to go down Rue Royale, if you can bear that!”, told Courfeyrac him smiling and thumped his back joyfully about his bad pun. Grantaire laughed and snatched a gay-pride flag from a passer-by who glared infuriated at him, then the girls eyes widened and she grabbed the arm of her companion, another girl with wild hair and a baseball cap on her bristly black hair.

“Oh my god.”, she gasped and both stared at Grantaire, blocking a few more people who wanted to get past, “Oh my god, it's you!”

“Last time I checked it was me, yes.”, smiled Grantaire and a boy behind the girls shrieked.

“That's R, that's Henri Grantaire! He's free! Free R!”, he shouted and people around them turned, looked at him and started staring. Grantaire smiled a little awkward under all the attention and took Enjolras' hand as to ground himself.

“All right, people, we need to get through to the Place de la Concord, so make way!”, started Courfeyrac to use the attention of the people to get them through the never ending stream of demonstrators streaming towards the place. After a few meters, they started parting for them, word spreading that Grantaire was there, that he had arrived and was still free. Courfeyrac seemed to enjoy his role as herald and kept calling out that Grantaire needed to pass through.

They made their way towards the square fairly quickly, people cheering them and clapping Grantaire's back and shoulders, Grantaire's hand still clasping Enjolras' while they were more pushed forward than actually walking. Enjolras had never thought it would be like that. Not that he was envious about the attention that was bestowed on Grantaire but because he had never dreamed that so many people would join their fight. That so many people cared.

He had hoped for it, of course. He had wished they would, but deep inside him there had always been the doubt that they would never rise. Maybe that had been one of the reasons why he had lost his drive, because while his fights and struggles never showed any benefits or achievements, the gnawing suspicion had been enough to discourage him and make him stop fighting.

Grantaire looked over his shoulder and saw the gloomy look on Enjolras' face while he trailed behind him, his fingers growing tense in Grantaire's hand. Courfeyrac was trying to make some people let them pass the last few meters to the square. Grantaire stopped and stepped to Enjolras, raising on tiptoes to lean against Enjolras and murmured into his ear: “Stop thinking. You made mistakes, I made mistakes. We all did. And all those mistakes led us to this point. I need you to focus, Enj, I can not do this. They need you.”

Enjolras watched Grantaire as he fell back on his heels and looked up at him, a knowing sparkle in his green eyes. Sometimes it was terrifying how well Grantaire knew Enjolras and could read his mind, even after eight years of not speaking one word. Enjolras smiled mildly at Grantaire and pressed his hand while Courfeyrac helped two burly men and three women to hoist one of the metal fences to the side that should hinder people from stepping off the square into the street and ultimately into open traffic.

Enjolras smiled at Grantaire and followed Courfeyrac into the denser crowd that had gathered on the square. The organisers of the demonstration had erected a small stage under the obelisk to which Courfeyrac was headed now. He looked over his shoulder to check if Enjolras and Grantaire were still there and gave an encouraging smile. A few moments later, they had reached the stage while the crowd had taken on a new chanting: “Freedom for R!”

Enjolras stood at the foot of the stage that went up to his chest and gazed up, not able to believe his eyes when Bahorel smiled down at him and offered him a hand. Éponine was clutching a microphone and talked to people about social justice and equality, about racial and sexual segregation and about the need to stand up and show the politicians that they were not in charge of their country.

While Bahorel dragged Enjolras up, Combeferre and Joly had taken each one of Grantaire's hands and lifted him up the stage. When they stood securely on the boards, Enjolras felt himself wrapped up in a breathtaking embrace while Combeferre murmured over the chanting: “I knew you would do the right thing!”

He let him go and Enjolras saw the relief in his best friend's eyes while Bahorel wrapped an arm around his shoulders, laughing happily, raising a fist into the air to join the chanting-chorus. Joly had hugged Grantaire as well as Bousset before they had been elbowed out of the way by Jehan. Enjolras watched the young poet grab Grantaire's face with both hands, talk to him with a frantic expression before dragging him into a breathtaking hug that lasted eternities in which Jehan pressed his face into Grantaire's shirt and his hands clutched fistful of fabric.

Combeferre stepped to them while Feuilly was wrapping Enjolras up in an embrace that hindered him from watching them. When he surfaced from his friend's arms, he saw that Combeferre handed Grantaire a microphone and encouraged him to talk to the people still chanting his name. Courfeyrac accompanied Grantaire to the front of the stage, his boisterous and confident demeanour lending confidence to Grantaire.

Enjolras would have loved nothing better than to listen to the things that Grantaire was about to say to the people when a slender hand wound around his wrist and turned him around gently. He was facing Jehan whose big, grey eyes were shining wet and were red rimmed. Feuilly and Bahorel – hand in hand – stepped in front of them and shielded them at least partially from the glances of the people, Bousset and Joly moving in to form a loose half-circle around them.

“I owe you an apology.”, said Jehan softly and his hand wandered down to Enjolras' own, his fingers closing softly around Enjolras' and he felt how Jehan shook.

“No, I think I am the one who has to apologize.”, said Enjolras quickly and shook his head, “I was the one driving a wedge between you and Grantaire. I am sorry, Prouvaire.”

“My friends call me Jehan, you should know that.”, smiled the young man still very sad and Enjolras felt the corners of his mouth twitch up into a small smile about the meaning behind those words. Jehan shrugged his shoulders and sighed, casting a glance at Grantaire before talking to Enjolras again: “I guess I knew this day would come sooner or later. Do you know what the first thing was R ever said to me?”

Enjolras shook his head. Jehan smiled again, a little more sad than before but also a fond look in his eyes.

“It was your name. That was the first thing he ever said to me. Enjolras...”, told him Jehan and squeezed his hand that he was still holding, “I guess I always knew that his heart belongs to you. It was dumb of me to think that I could ever change that. But then again, it would not have been R anymore if I changed that aspect about him, wouldn't it?”

“I guess not.”, said Enjolras calmly while he heard the cheering of the crowd over Grantaire's speech only as a distant rumour, Jehan's sad eyes still the only thing he could see, “But that doesn't justify the way I intruded in your relationship.”

“There was no relationship, Enjolras.”, smiled Jehan and shook his head, “We are there for each other, we look out for each other. We love each other, but not the way you would think. We are friends, maybe soul-mates... although R hates when I say that... and he will always be the most important person in my life because I know how fragile he is and what he's been through. But Enjolras... look at him...”

Both turned half towards Grantaire who spoke with a new-found confidence, gesticulating with a free hand towards the crowd, the people listening intently to his words while Courfeyrac and Combeferre nodded along, Joly and Bousset applauding after a few words.

“He's happy.”, said Jehan softly, still watching Grantaire, “He finally is happy again. And I need to thank you for it. You brought him back, Enjolras, as he brought you back. I can not express how thankful I am for your sacrifice. It would have been easy to work the case and to pretend you didn't care. But it takes a lot of courage to admit that you have been wrong and to turn around the steering oar to get back on track again.”

Enjolras looked down at Jehan and found the shorter man smiling up at him, looking fragile and still sad but glowing with gratitude while he waited for Enjolras to say something. His brain was working frantically and the only thing he could say was: “What will you do now?”

Jehan laughed light-hearted and his long hair flowed over his shoulders and back while he let Enjorlas' hand go and hooked himself under with him, wrapping his arms around one of Enjolras' in a friendly and natural manner that made some kind of warmth blossom in Enjolras' chest although he had thought he could never like the poet. Then he caught the glance that Feuilly threw over his shoulder to Jehan, that fond, loving, admiring little smile he bestowed upon him before leaning into Bahorel to squeeze the taller man's hand who bent over to press a kiss to Feuilly's temple.

“I think I will be all right.”, smiled Jehan and watched Bahorel wink at him first, then extend a hand to him. Jehan raised to tiptoes, pressed a kiss to Enjolras' cheek and left him then in favour of grasping Bahorel's hand to be pulled into the tall man's side. Enjolras watched Bahorel place a long and fond kiss on Jehan's hair and smile at the lithe man in his arm.

A smile blossomed on Enjolras' face while he watched the ongoings in front of his eyes. Jehan and Bahorel. But also Bahorel and Feuilly? And the smile Feuilly had granted Jehan... Somehow it made sense. Feuilly was working too hard, asking too much of himself and surely needed a strong hand to keep him off work sometimes. Bahorel was right for that. And Feuilly needed also a person who brought colour, poetry and romance in his often so grey life full of work. Jehan would be good for him too. Enjolras felt light-headed and happy for them.

“Why are you hiding back here?”, asked Combeferre who was suddenly with him.

“It's his moment, not mine.”, gave Enjolras back quietly and crossed his arms over his chest.

“Your name is on everyone's lips.”, acknowledged Combeferre and watched Grantaire speak, “They just don't know your face yet. But they will. You are their star, Enjorlas. You were the one to change sides, the one to show them that the people are not easily obeying. You encouraged them.”

Enjolras felt an exhilarating feeling in his heart while Combeferre smiled at him, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose while a surge of applause went through the people, Courfeyrac taking the microphone from Grantaire who stepped back and turned to look where Enjolras was.

“Cosette and Marius will be here soon.”, said Combeferre cryptically and nodded towards Grantaire who came to accompany them, “Then it will be your time to shine.”

“You could say whatever you wanted... the people hardly listen. They hear what they want to hear.”, said Grantaire gloomily and watched Courfeyrac talk.

Combeferre laughed.

“No R, the people listen. It's just that you are saying exactly what they're thinking. They trust you and want you to speak for them.”, he declared light-heartedly and smiled at Grantaire who took Enjolras' hand.

“If you think so...”, smiled Grantaire and looked down, Enjolras seeing that he was eyeing Jehan from the corner of his eyes. He leaned into Grantaire's side and squeezed his hand carefully. Grantaire looked up at him and had a question in his eyes that Enjolras wanted to answer in an instant.

“He's fine. Feuilly is a good man and as far as I know Bahorel, he's a good match for the two. Don't worry.”, tried Enjolras to comfort Grantaire who only grumbled: “I don't want him getting hurt.”

“He won't.”, smiled Combeferre and watched the new formed trio, “Feuilly adores him and Bahorel would probably murder for him...”

Enjolras had not listened to Combeferre while he saw several police vans pull through the masses in the streets surrounding the square. If every one of these vans was filled with police forces, they would soon be in a threatening number. Enjolras' heart started pounding and he let go Grantaire's hand before shoving him towards Combeferre.

“Keep an eye on him.”, ordered Enjolras, ignoring the protest from Grantaire and the confused glance that Combeferre shot him before seeing what he had seen: the sudden presence of hundreds of police officers around the square. Enjolras had made his way to Courfeyrac meanwhile who saw him approach and finished his speech with: “And now for you, the man who showed us what courage means, what revolution means... Sebastien Enjolras.”

The crowd cheered and Enjolras felt the racket pressing on his ears while he watched the police forces group up, pulling plastic shields out of their vans and lowering the visors of their helmets, truncheons ready in their hands. This was not what was supposed to happen, their should be no violence, this was not how this was supposed to end.

Enjolras clutched the microphone and turned to look for Grantaire again. He caught a glimpse of his white face, while Bahorel, Feuilly, Combeferre and Bousset – the most impressive men of their group – had formed a protective circle around him. And although Enjolras was somehow aware that he was also at the risk of being arrested for his doing in the morning, he was relieved and granted Grantaire an encouraging smile. Then he turned around again and spoke. He had no concept, no speech prepared, he said what came to his mind.

“Friends, we've gathered here in common cause. And that cause is freedom.”

The crowd cheered while the people standing closest to the police officers forming a circle around the protestors – blocking new arrivals and hindering the ones on the square to depart – turned around to face them, starting to yell provocations and insults at the civil servants. Enjolras knew he had not much time before things would escalate.

“And this freedom is not just the right of a few! Freedom is the right of every human being in our beloved motherland. The people of France have watched too long how politicians made laws and acts that restrict us, that will separate us and set us against each other! That is why we will stay peaceful, do you hear me? Do not raise your hand against a brother or a sister who has to stand on the side of policy!”

Enjolras' words echoed over the square and reached every person and he saw – somehow relieved – how many protestors turned away from the police officers to look towards him again. He knew that he was heard, that his words made a difference and so felt encouraged to say even more.

“Let us not cater the hate and animosity that policy tried to push on us by this act through attacking our compatriots in an attempt to justify our presence here! We know as well as most of them do that we have a _right_ to stand here. Because to love and be loved is a right that no one should be denied of, no matter who they love!”

Cheers again and Enjolras watched amazed how some police officers glanced to their neighbours in the line and lowered their truncheons just a little, their grip on their shields faltering. He was being heard.

“I have met a brave young woman today, a woman working as a security officer in the court I attended this morning, a woman who works for the executive authorities of this country. And she is in love with two men who love each other as well. She would have been affected by the act and yet came to work like on any other day. She decided as well as I did to stand up for her rights, to fight for her relationship and to stand up against the injustice that the politicians try to force onto us. I am sure most of you know people affected by the act or are affected yourselves, so don't assume that it is not the same case on their side. We are in this together, all of us! There are no sides! We are the people!”

Courfeyrac, still standing close to Enjolras, touched his arm and pointed with his chin to a spot to Enjolras' right. Police officers were dropping truncheons and shields and took off their helmets while their superior was shouting commandos at them. The demonstrators in front of them where applauding and cheering them. Enjolras couldn't stop the smile on his face while one of the officers, a young man with glossy, black hair, waived encouraging at him.

“We are all in this together!”, he repeated and turned to the masses again, “We are one nation, one people, one brother- and sisterhood. We may be as different from each other as possible, but we still stand here in a common goal. Freedom for us, freedom for the ones we love... and freedom for Henri Grantaire, the man who made all of this happen.”

Another surging round of cheering while more and more police officers dropped their hostile demeanour and took off their helmets.

“Amazing...”, breathed Courfeyrac next to him close to tears, “That's a miracle. I can't believe it.”

Enjolras took Courfeyrac's hand and squeezed it while the words kept still flowing out of him like they had been trapped deep in his soul and pushed out with all force now: “He was the man who showed us the direction, the man who lead us into a better future, who showed us that it was worth to stand up for each other and who showed us that no matter who you love, you are still a human being worth of respect, freedom and equality!”

“Enjolras!”, called Combeferre and pointed to a spot in the crowd to Enjolras' left. He turned and saw a blond girl push her way towards the stage, closely followed by a lanky ginger boy grinning wide. Cosette waived two piles of papers over her head and was red faced from shouting to let her pass through. Courfeyrac and Joly were at the edge of the stage in an instant and helped Cosette and Marius up while Éponine took one of the piles off Cosette and stepped with her towards Enjolras.

“You are a magician!”, praised Cosette and laughed while Enjolras covered the microphone with his hand, “You are truly amazing. Now I know why the boys were going into raptures about you!”

“What is that, Cosette?”, asked Enjolras and tried to read what was written on the pile in Cosette's hands. Marius was the one answering him.

“Cosette is my grandfather's intern and private secretary. We went to him right after you left the court with Grantaire. My grandfather is a member of the National Assembly, you must know.”, explained Marius smiling and wound an arm around Cosette's shoulders.

“I talked to him and he gave me this...”, said Cosette and presented the pile to Enjolras. What was a pile on the first glance was in reality a thin book in adhesive binding. Enjolras recognized the writing on the first page in an instant and gaped. It was one of the first drafts on the act that would be put to vote next week. Cosette beamed at him while Éponine added: “He had an emergency meeting in the Assembly and had the other members agree to put the act to plebiscite. They couldn't agree on that but they agreed that before the act could do further damage to their policy, they would just... well...”, Éponine smiled, “Act like it had never existed.”

“You are kidding me...”, complained Enjolras while his blood rushed in his ears and his hands went cold.

“No, they will act as if this act has never been set up in the first place. They will entirely ignore the existence of the draft and carry on. They were shocked and afraid of the reaction of the public. I mean... look around you.”, said Cosette and pointed with a wide gesture over the whole square, “Putting the act to vote would have meant to rouse the anger of the whole of the Parisian and most of the French population. They are not risking that...”

“And that's also for your disposal.”, smiled Éponine and raised the pile she had been holding. Enjolras took one look and a smile bloomed on his face when he recognized without any difficulty the cover page of the bill of indictment against Grantaire. He looked at Éponine who was smiling as wide as Cosette while she added: “They dropped the whole case. R is a man too important for these people as they would risk to put him in front of a judge once more. He is free, Enjolras, R is free.”

Enjolras felt his knees buckle and his head swim. All the worries, all the fears flew from his heart and he wanted to laugh until his voice was gone, he wanted to grab Grantaire and kiss him until he suffocated, he wanted to take Grantaire home and never let him go again, never again. But first there were a few more things to do. Enjolras took the small book from Cosette and beckoned Éponine to follow him back to the front of the stage.

The people had started chanting their paroles again while Enjolras had talked to Cosette, Marius and Éponine, the rows of the police officers thinning by the minute, confusion and uncertainty making the remaining police forces back off ever so slightly. Enjolras raised the hand that clutched the microphone in the air and waited until the majority of people were going quiet because he knew he could never talk against that storm of voices.

“Friends!”, he called and couldn't stop the smile on his face, “We have received a truly great gift. The National Assembly has seen us, has heard our voice and has reacted to us rise against their despotism. We have received the draft of the act that was to be put to vote!”

Enjolras raised his other hand and showed the act to the gathered demonstrators who went completely silent now, the only voices to be heard where the commands of the police officers in charge who tried to encourage their men and women to step back in file. Enjolras shook the thin book once more and raised the microphone to his lips again.

“This, in my hand, is the accursed act which would discriminate and stigmatize so many people. This in my hand is why we are here, why we rose and why we spoke up. The politicians were not willing to vote for or against the act, they were also not ready to distance themselves from it. They are cowards and decided to drop the act as if it never existed. We succeeded. We got our will. But we will not back down now. Not now. We need to change things without violence. We need to stand up and raise our voices so that there will be a change in the system, not only in this one case.”

Enjolras dropped the microphone and handed it to Marius who stepped forward and held the microphone to Enjolras' lips as he asked for it. He was smiling at Enjolras as if he was some personified revolutionary angel helping to change the world for the better. Enjolras took the book in both hands and started ripping pages out of the cohesive binding. He started speaking while handing the pages down.

“We came this far. We were successful in putting off this act, let us destroy it now together and swear that we will keep fighting for a better world. For a more just France, for a more equal place to live for all of us.”, spoke Enjolras while he watched the pages being passed on into the square until his hands were empty except one page. Enjolras stopped himself before he could rip it to shreds and turned around. His eyes caught on Jehan who held Feuilly's hand and he motioned with his head for the two of them to come to him.

Feuilly was reluctant but was dragged forward by Jehan whose eyes sparkled with happiness while Enjolras handed the page to him. Jehan took the page and let go off Feuilly's hand to wrap his own around Feuilly's neck to drag him down into a quick kiss before both of them together ripped the page to pieces. The sound of ripping paper echoed over the square while people cheered and laughed. Jehan stepped to Enjolras and hugged him, laughing delighted before letting go and rushing off to kiss Bahorel.

Enjolras put his hand to the small of Éponine's back while he took the microphone from Marius again. The people were still cheering and laughing about the destruction of the act when Enjolras tried to speak again. They did not listen. He tried a few times, growing more and more frustrated because what he had to say was what was closest to his heart, when a cool hand wrapped itself around his own. He looked down at Grantaire who was smiling warmly at him, squeezing his hand, grounding him. Enjolras smiled as well and waited until the racket died down, feeling warm and settled with Grantaire's presence next to him. Finally he was able to speak again.

“Most of you heard my name for the first time when the lawyer in the case of the state of France against Henri Grantaire was made public. I would have been the man to take the freedom from Grantaire. But now it is my great pleasure to do the contrary.”

Enjolras nudged Éponine who raised the bill of indictment into the air over her head to show it while Enjolras went on: “This is the bill of indictment against Henri Grantaire, which will be completely dropped without further court hearings. Henri Grantaire is a free man. R is free!”

Enjolras tossed the microphone at Marius and grabbed the bill of indictment from Éponine. He had planned to distribute the pages as well but he could not hold himself back anymore. All his frustration, his worries and his fears were poured into his action now while he ripped the papers to shreds, his eyes fixed at Grantaire's who grinned fondly at him.

The people cheered, his friends cheered, the police forces cheered, Paris cheered, the whole of France seemed to cheer. But Enjolras heard nothing of it. All that counted for him was Grantaire's relieved laughter, the smile on his face, the tears in his eyes, the words on his lips.

“I love you!”, he murmured through tears.

Enjolras stepped to Grantaire and seized his face with both hands, his thumbs stroking circles into Grantaire's cheeks while he tilted Grantaire back, crowded against him and kissed him like it was the last thing he would ever do, the only thing he had ever wanted. Grantaire fisted his hands into his red shirt and responded equally desperate and hungry.

The roar of the crowd was only a distant background sound as well as the wolf-whistling of their friends. The only thing that mattered was the man in Enjolras' arms who looked up to him through loving, green eyes.

“You are safe now.”, Enjolras breathed against Grantaire's lips, “And I will never leave you again. I love you so much, Henri.”

And Grantaire laughed, a deep, happy, content sound that would forever fill Enjolras' heart with joy and happiness.

 

 

 

:<>: Epilogue :<>:

 

 

“I'd say that's Grantaire 5, Enjolras 12.”, laughed Jehan and tossed a newspaper onto the conference table.

Before Enjolras could get a hold of it, Courfeyrac flung himself over the table and snatched it away, cheered by Bousset and Joly while Combeferre to Enjolras' left just shook his head smiling.

“Oh, and it's a good one too!”, said Musichetta while glancing over Courfeyrac's shoulder at the newspaper, Jehan getting back into his seat next to Grantaire who smiled at Enjolras, sitting to his right – as always.

“A good one?”, groaned Courfeyrac exasperated, “He wore those dreadful sunglasses!”, he huffed, shaking his head in dismay about the fashion choices of his friend.

“I don't know what my sunglasses have to do with the quality of my work?”, snapped Enjolras a little indignant while he tried to get the meeting back on course.

“You are a representative of the people now, you are a political heavyweight, you need to show that you're not only a genius but also capable of dressing properly!”, groaned Courfeyrac and pushed the paper over the table to Bahorel and Feuilly who scanned the page and the enclosed article, Bahorel having draped one arm around Jehan's shoulders.

“Again, my clothes shouldn't determine my work.”, said Enjolras while Grantaire leaned over the edge of the table to place his hand on Enjolras' who got more worked up by the moment.

“I'm still for that make-over!”, smiled Courfeyrac devilishly while Jehan perked up and smiled beaming at Enjolras.

“Forget it, Jehan.”, laughed Combeferre, “I think he'll hack off both his hands before he let's you have a make-over.”

“A shame.”, sighed Jehan and leaned into Bahorel's side, “You know I saw this very gorgeous blood red three piece suit the other day in this shop I got my new suit and was immediately thinking of you and how good you look in red, don't you think so too, Courf?”

Enjolras zoned out while his friends kept discussing the benefits of redressing him in a more fashionable way. He looked down the long conference table and had to smile to himself. They had come far in only half a year after the happenings of the now so called Peaceful June Revolution. Les Amis de L'ABC had gained political importance and had established a proper political party for the French National Assembly, Enjolras and Grantaire the leading heads of the party.

Now they sat in the meeting room of their office floor in the first arrondissement in Paris and had their main monthly meeting on the last Saturday of the month, discussing the press echo about their latest campaign, counting the front covers they had gotten the last month.

Grantaire and Combeferre sat to Enjolras' right and left while he overlooked the whole table. Jehan, Bahorel, Feuilly, Éponine and Cosette had taken on the right side of the table, Courfeyrac, Musichetta, Joly, Bousset and Marius the left side. Everyone beside Combeferre and Joly – who still worked their jobs in the hospital while leading the new research facility that Enjolras had funded – and Marius – who still worked as History teacher in a local school – had found a job in the party.

Enjolras and Grantaire had been elected into the National Assembly and where the main political players of the party. Courfeyrac had kept true to his dream and had taken over the juridical department of their party. Jehan and Éponine did what they could do best and lead the publicity and campaigning sector of their party. Feuilly had quit his job at the air conditioning concern and had joined the party as parliamentary chairman who also dealt with the financial aspects of running an upcoming party.

Cosette – the only one acquainted to political work – had made herself personal assistant to Enjolras and Grantaire and had also taken the job as official spokeswoman of the two main candidates. Bousset provided the web appearance of the party as he had worked as web-designer before and was still doing a great job to spread their popularity through the web, twitter, tumblr and many other social media platforms. Musichetta and Bahorel had no clearly defined jobs in the party, they were helping out with whatever research had to be done or wherever their help was needed.

They had clicked immediately and their party sky-rocketed since the last elections. They were still fighting for equality and freedom for the people and succeeded in more and more sectors of everyday life. It was still a long way to go but Enjolras was determined to show the people of France a better future. Together with his friends. Together with Grantaire.

He looked over to his boyfriend and smiled while Grantaire's hand still rested on his. He was talking with Jehan and Courfeyrac about the upcoming campaign they were launching in the next week, a campaign for more social awareness of youth poverty in France. His eyes where glinting fierce while he told Courfeyrac about his idea for an interactive leaflet that would be spread via a graffiti-QR-code all over the city. Courfeyrac was laughing and was reminding him that that would still be illegal although he had gotten away with graffitiing the city once.

Things were getting better. Things were getting easier. They had spent the first few weeks just talking, clearing away guilt, fears and worries. Those days had been the hardest ones, mentally as well as emotionally. They had needed a lot of time to trust each other again like they had done once, but they were getting better.

Grantaire and Jehan had moved to Paris along with Éponine and her little brother Gavroche. Grantaire had gotten a flat with a built-in studio in the third arrondissement which was big enough for two people. Jehan lived close by, sharing a flat with Bahorel while Feuilly tried desperately to convince them to move into his house to live with him while Grantaire kept pestering Enjolras why he wouldn't move in with him although he spent most of the time with Grantaire in his flat anyway.

And although Enjolras loved the idea to live with Grantaire, to have a home with him and so give Combeferre and Courfeyrac the privacy they needed to take their relationship onto the next level, he still couldn't bring himself to agree to Grantaire's proposal. He was still afraid of messing up, of hurting Grantaire again, of Grantaire remembering the pain he had been through and calling things off with Enjolras again. His hesitating had resulted in Grantaire stopping to ask him to move in with him the week prior. Enjolras was worried that this was a bad sign.

“Oi, are you listening to _anything_ we've been saying?”, asked Courfeyrac smiling and waived his hand in front of Enjolras' face who surfaced from his musing.

“Sorry.”, sighed Enjolras and squeezed Grantaire's hand before letting it go, “I've been thinking. Come again...”

“We've been wondering if we should call it a day and get ourselves home before it's starting to snow again.”, asked Combeferre also smiling and closed his notepad.

Enjolras cast a glance out the window and sighed while the early December wind blew a few snowflakes over the street. Maybe Combeferre was right and it was getting too late.

“You're right. We've made good progress today and can get to work for the new campaign on Monday.”, said Enjolras and gathered his papers to put them into a file, “Thanks everyone for your contributions and I'm looking forward to the next week. Feuilly, don't forget our meeting on Monday morning.”

“How could I forget that?!”, grinned his friend cocky and winked while Courfeyrac snorted because he was also needed in that meeting and Enjolras could be demanding on a Monday morning after a busy weekend – too demanding for Feuilly's and Courfeyrac's taste for that matter. Before Enjolras could snap back in a friendly manner, Jehan cut in and asked: “Shall we give you two a lift?”

“Yes, that would be great.”, sighed Grantaire and got up, smiling thankful at Bahorel who twirled his keys around his fingers and winked: “Always grateful to be the chauffeur for the most influential young politicians of the land.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes to himself and smiled while he took up his files and rushed into his office to get his coat and another few folders he wanted to work through the coming day. Grantaire, Jehan, Bahorel and Feuilly waited at the elevator for him while the others had already left. Enjolras huffed because he had meant to talk to Joly because he had had his first solo-surgery two days ago and Enjolras had not had the opportunity to ask how he had been doing. Of course he knew that Joly had been great, Combeferre wouldn't stop to go into raptures about it, proud to be the tutor of such a promising young surgeon. But he had wished to talk to Joly himself to show him that he supported him.

“Ready to go, Fearless Leader?”, asked Jehan smiling and winked while Enjolras snorted about the nickname Courfeyrac had coined for him. They left the office and piled into Bahorel's car in the parking garage. Bahorel had a lethal style to drive and Enjolras was relieved and happy when he pulled over on the curb in front of Grantaire's flat.

“Pick up on Monday, Enj?”, asked Feuilly and leaned out the front passenger window to watched Grantaire and Enjolras striding to the door after climbing out of the back seat where Jehan was still waiving at them.

“That's a hell of a detour for you.”, acknowledge Enjolras and wanted to decline, but Feuilly waived him down and stated: “Half eight, I'm not going to ring so make sure you're down by then. Bye, R!”

“See you!”, called Grantaire and waived while Bahorel pulled back into traffic and sped away. Enjolras was only slightly bothered about the fact that Feuilly just assumed Enjolras would spend the weekend at Grantaire's. But then again, who was he kidding? Of course he was spending the weekend with his boyfriend.

“He's going to kill us all one day with his driving!”, muttered Enjolras and stepped into the stairway as Grantaire held the door open for him. While they took the elevator to Grantaire's flat which occupied a whole floor – the topmost floor, to be precise – Grantaire chuckled and said: “As long as he's one of the only people who own a car I will be happy to risk my life on a daily basis.”

Enjolras scowled at him and shook his head when Grantaire rose to tiptoes to place a kiss on his lips. They left the elevator and Grantaire unlocked the door, ushering Enjolras into the warm flat. Enjolras shivered and cast off his black leather gloves, the thick quilted burgundy jacket, the bulky black wool scarf and the black cardigan before pulling off the black cap he was wearing. Grantaire snorted a laugh while he shed off his black wool coat and unbuttoned the shirt he wore underneath to strip down to his light, black shirt under the pine green button-down.

“I can't understand why you're not wearing more.”, complained Enjolras and rubbed his hands while he held them over the radiator, “You must be freezing to death.”

“I am not.”, smiled Grantaire and stepped behind him, his arms snaking around Enjolras' waist while he pressed his cheek to Enjolras' shoulder, making Enjolras smile, “I just take a look at my hot boyfriend and then everything is fine.”

“Crawler.”, smiled Enjolras and stroked the back of Grantaire's folded hands resting on his stomach. It was uncharacteristic for Grantaire not to retort anything so Enjolras furrowed his brows and turned in Grantaire's embrace to look at his boyfriend. Grantaire seemed uneasy and wouldn't meet his eyes.

“What's wrong?”, asked Enjolras, his heart dropping a little. The mood in their relationship had been so good in the last few weeks, partially because of the magic of Christmas, partially because they were finally so comfortable around each other again. He was afraid he had fucked up something by this careless remark.

Grantaire raised his head and looked briefly at Enjolras, then he let go off him and stepped back. Enjolras refrained from the urge to follow him but kept watching intently.

“Listen...”, said Grantaire in a grave voice, “I... I wanted to talk to you about something. But...”

“But?”, asked Enjolras anxious when Grantaire stopped and pushed both hands into his pockets, staring at the self-knit socks on his feet that had been a present from Jehan. Grantaire wouldn't look up again but sighed and went on.

“I don't know how to say this. It's... it's very important for me... for us. And I'm... I'm afraid it will change the dynamics or the course of our relationship entirely.”, muttered Grantaire and shifted his weight a little while he drew one hand from his pocket and extended it towards Enjorlas.

His heart was beating frantically while he recognised the multiple times folded sheet of paper between Grantaire's fingers. His mind went blank of shock for a moment, then his thoughts started rushing violently and he felt his knees go weak. A letter? A god damn letter? A change in their relationship? What had he done? What had gone wrong? What had he said?

“I would... could you just... read it and then we... talk?”, asked Grantaire who watched Enjolras nervous, the letter still extended to him, “I'll wait in the kitchen. Just... just take your time. OK? It's very important.”

Enjolras could not answer, he just took the letter and watched Grantaire whirl around and stride into the kitchen. His heart was heavy as lead while the paper in his hand sent cold waves through his body. How could he ever think that they would work out their differences? How could he ever think that a gash like the one he had inflicted on their relationship could be patched up again? How could he have thought that a person like him deserved a person like Grantaire after he had caused him so much pain? He had been a fool, a romantic, lovesick, blind fool.

Carefully and with shaking hands he unravelled the letter and took a deep breath before he stared down at the paper, Grantaire's scrawling handwriting filling about half of the page. His eyes flew over the sentences and his brain short-circuited. He had to go over the letter another time, then another... and a fourth to be entirely sure. Then he dropped it and rushed into the kitchen.

Grantaire stood brazed against the kitchen counter and stared out the window, his face red from nervousness, his hair sticking up. He had probably run his hands through it from nervousness. He turned when he heard Enjolras approach and his face lit up when he saw the glint in Enjolras' eyes.

He closed the distance, grabbed Grantaire's face in a rush of passion and trapped his mouth in a ravishing kiss, his lips and tongue demanding everything Grantaire was willing to give. And Grantaire gave himself to Enjolras, clawing his fingers into Enjolras' sweater, raising on tiptoes to kiss Enjolras back eagerly. When they broke apart, panting, hair tousled and eyes shining bright, Enjolras whispered hoarse: “You are an idiot. I nearly got a heart-attack when you handed me that thing!”

“I'm sorry.”, chuckled Grantaire and kissed him fondly yet briefly, not letting go off him at all, looking up in his eyes afterwards, “I was afraid I'd mess this up. You know that my tongue's sometimes quicker than my mind and I just... I wanted this to be perfect... I just couldn't... Besides, it would have been really weird with the whole height difference, I mean, I'm already shorter than you and then to, you know, do the whole traditional thing...”

“Grantaire...”

“Hm?”

“You're rambling again.”

Enjolras smiled while Grantaire blushed ever so slightly and smiled apologetic up at him while his hands wandered over Enjolras' chest and shoulders into his hair, drew the hairband of his ponytail out to bury his fingers in the blond curls. He was still smiling, doing the small stroking-tugging-brushing thing he had discovered made Enjolras nearly purr with pleasure.

“See, that's why I wrote the letter... I know you're not a big fan of the rambling...”, he gave back and raised on tiptoes again, kissing Enjolras who shivered from Grantaire's hands in his hair and the slow, fond kiss.

“I'm a big fan of _everything_ you do.”, breathed Enjolras against Grantaire's lips after the kiss.

“So do you think I'll get an answer to the letter or do I need to bring you a piece of paper for that?”, teased Grantaire and Enjolras saw the nervous flicker cross his face before Grantaire could hide it away under a teasing smile.

Enjolras huffed a laugh and let his lips ghost over Grantaire's before he answered: “You'll get your answer right now... Yes!”

“Yes? Really?”

“Yes!!!”

Grantaire threw both arms into the air, cheering while he tipped back, Enjolras holding him during his rejoicing, laughing with Grantaire. After punching the air a few times, Grantaire wrapped his arms around Enjolras' neck and drew him down into a breathtaking kiss that seemed to last an eternity.

The letter lay forgotten in the living room, Grantaire's handwriting scrawled over the middle of the page.

Later Enjolras would pick it up and store it away in the shoebox he kept under his bed, the shoebox with photos and personal memorabilia from his new relationship with Grantaire. He would occasionally draw it out until the writing would be fading and the paper would nearly fall apart from the slightest breeze of air. But Enjolras would forever treasure that letter and Grantaire would shake his head about him, smiling about how sentimental Enjolras had gotten over that letter.

That plain letter that contained the following words:

 

> _Enjolras,_
> 
>  
> 
> _I am not good with words, you know that. And I don't want to mess this up. So read carefully, I probably won't be able to answer any questions regarding the content in coherent sentences..._
> 
> _You are the most important person in my life and I love you since the moment you strut into debate club at school, wearing that ridiculously tight Ramones shirt you never threw away. I love you every waking and every unconscious moment of my life. We have been through a lot and I think I am loving you even more than when we were young – if that's even possible. You've made me a better person, you make me want to be the best person I can be. And I love you for that and all the other small things._
> 
> _I never want to be apart from you again. You don't want to move in with me and that's fine. I quit asking for that. Instead I will ask another question:_
> 
> _Sebastien Enjolras, I love you, have always loved you and will forever love you. Will you marry me?_
> 
>  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, that's the end of my role-reversal-project... It was fun writing this although I can say for sure now that I like an idealistic Enjolras more than a resigned one ;)
> 
> I hope you enjoyed the story and please feel free to comment, critisize and what else not, I always really like to get feedback!
> 
> Thanks to all those who supported me during the writing, I hope you're all satisfied with how this all worked out.
> 
> Come say hi on tumblr, I'm always happy to meet new people! It's bramblesforbreakfast there as well ;)


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